#I remember when clotted cream said that I was shocked

[lolo3h]

At this point I'm just using Shadow Milk to voice my own commentary on Cookie Odyssey

[queen-rainy-love]

After a little conversation with @nightmyst14-blog ...this happened. (Only took a week to make!) This story will take place five years after HellHound's Secret Mini Arc. It will make sense later. Also, this headcanon is subject to change.

*The scene is set in the Cookie Kingdom where Stollen and Strawberry Cream are walking down the street. In Strawberry Cream's hand was a piece of paper.*

Stollen: Are you sure he's here? *Strawberry Cream nodded* Okay. Do you know his name?

Strawberry Cream: *pauses then shakes his head.*

Stollen: Do you know what he looks like?

Strawberry Cream: *pause before pointing at his eyes.* I know his eye color and his stare.

Stollen: His eyes? Really? That's the only thing you remember? *turns her back to him* What are you going to do? Stare at every Cookie you pass? That's not gonna- *turns around and Strawberry Cream is gone.* What the?! Oh come on!

*Cut to Strawberry Cream walking around and staring at every Cookie's eyes, causing them to flinch. This goes on until-*

Wildberry: What else do we have left on the list?

Clotted Cream: Just some milk. We should get a- *Strawberry Cream run up to them and stare into his eyes.* Oh! Um...hello there...um...can I help you?

*Strawberry Cream looks into Clotted Cream's eyes for a few seconds before backing up.*

Strawberry Cream: Sorry...It's not you. *Looks at Wildberry* You?

*Wildberry blinked before entering a staring contest with Strawberry Cream. This goes on for a good two minutes before Strawberry Cream pulled back.*

Strawberry Cream: Hmmm. Maybe. Not the right color but the stare is right. Sorry for staring.

*He turned around and was about to walk away when Wildberry grabbed the back of his collar and lifted him up. He then turned his attention to Clotted Cream.*

Wildberry: This is our son now.

Clotted Cream: Wha-!? Wildberry!!

Wildberry: We have room. *starts walking while holding Strawberry Cream like a kitten* Let's go show Red Velvet and Pastry.

Clotted Cream: Wildberry!! *Chases after him*

*Meanwhile, in the RedPastry Household living room, Pastry was knitting a blanket with Pond Dino playing with their toys and some Cake Hounds lying around the room. Suddenly, a knock filled the air. This caused the Cake Hounds to be startled and start to bark before charging at the door.*

Pastry: Oh dear. *stands up, holding the blanket in front of her.* Pond Dino, please stay here. I'll be right back.

Pond Dino: Okay mama!

*Pastry leaves the living room (with the blanket still in her arms) and shoo the Cake Hounds away from the door. She opens it to see Clotted Cream, Wildberry, and a teenager being held like a kitten in Wildberry's hand.*

Clotted Cream: Ah! Pastry! So sorry to disturb you right now. Wildberry wanted to show both you and Red Velvet someone.

Pastry: ...Where did the child come from?

Wildberry: He came up to us, did a staring contest to each of us, then I wanted to take him in. We wanted to show you guys first.

Pastry: What of his parents? Won't they go looking for him?

Wildberry: You're one to talk. Did Pond Dino's parents come looking for them?

Pastry: ...I may be on leave but that doesn't mean I won't crumble you.

Clotted Cream: *stands between the two* Before you go at each other's throats, we have a child whose parents are looking for!

Strawberry Cream: Actually, my father is missing and I'm looking for him. This guy just picked me up and said he was adopting me.

Pastry: Wildberry!

Wildberry: That's how Hollyberry basically adopted me.

Pastry: Do you even know his name? *Wildberry looked at Strawberry Cream before setting him down. Pastry sighed and looked at the young Cookie.* What is your name, young Cookie?

Strawberry Cream: My name is Strawberry Cream, ma'am.

*As soon as he said that, Pastry's face morphed into shock. She looked at Strawberry Cream for a few seconds before walking back into the house. Wildberry, Clotted Cream, and Strawberry Cream carefully walked inside the house, straight to the living room, and waited. Strawberry Cream noticed Pond Dino still playing with their toys. They noticed him staring.*

Pond Dino: Hello! Do you want to play?

Strawberry Cream: Um...I guess? *sits down next to them.* What are you playing?

Pond Dino: Last Cookie Standing. Crunchy or Crispy?

*Before he could answer, quick footsteps filled the air. The Cookkies looked over at the doorframe to see Red Velvet, slightly panting, leaning on the doorframe. His eyes fixed on Strawberry Cream.*

Clotted Cream: Red Velvet, sorry for the unannounced visit. Wildberry wanted to show you the child he wanted to adopt after a staring contest.

Wildberry: This is-

Red Velvet: Strawberry Cream. I know. I gave him that name.

*Strawberry Cream stood up and walked over to Red Velvet. They both looked at each other for a couple seconds before Strawberry Cream ran to Red Velvet and hugged him. Red Velvet hugs him back.*

Clotted Cream: What is-

Pastry: I'll explain later. But good luck getting him to be your son, Wildberry.

Wildberry: I will still try.

*Meanwhile...*

Stollen: Where the hell is he?!

[screechingcheesecakecheesecake]

Now that I think about it, I think it's unfair to try and put down Dark Cacao's relationship with Dark Choco because "He hesitated with Dark Enchantress but not Dark Choco" when there are different layers to his relationship to both of them.

Yes, Dark Cacao did not hesitate to say it's time to kill Dark Choco. But remember, this was when he was at the height of his emotions. And Dark Cacao when he's like that tends to go overboard with his words or actions (witness: Clotted Cream). But when it came down to the act itself, Dark Cacao can't bring himself to kill him. He's done it twice, instead of execution for his 'betrayal', he banished Dark Choco instead. And in 14-29 he only defeated Dark Choco instead of just finishing him off immediately. Dark Choco, in the end, is still the child he loves so much.

White Lily is his friend, he has no control over her actions or decisions, that was her's and her's alone. She's independent from him and he's known her longer than Dark Choco. They along with the rest of the Ancients have agreed to a duty to protect Earthbread. We already saw that he was shocked and hurt over the news about her identity. Moreover, he was taken only days to process it before having to face her as Dark Enchantress again.

Meanwhile Dark Choco is his child and the Prince of his kingdom. His behavior has a huge influence over Dark Choco and he's the one who raised him. He has a responsibility over him, even if that responsibility meant having to kill him for the sake of the kingdom. Dark Cacao's personality isn't exactly the best for parenting because yknow, communication. But he's always trying to find a way to 'save' Dark Choco in the midst of his duty. He can't bring him back to the kingdom casually after Dark Choco's rampage so he banished him because at least that kept him alive. He apologized to Dark Choco after he defeated him and even let him walk away after he was freed from the cursed sword. His affections needs some reading the lines but he really does love Dark Choco so much. If he didn't then why would he carry the responsibility over his child's sins or keep him alive after everything?

Of course I can't really excuse the damage that Dark Cacao's words do, but we also need to remember that this man often contradicts himself especially when he's at peak anger. He said he regretted ever calling Dark Choco his son but after their battle and he's calmer he said that his biggest regret is not loving him enough. He got mad at Hollyberry and told how how did she ever become Queen with her behavior then later after he calmed down he complimented her behavior saying that she's still full of passion as always.

So instead of saying "Dark Cacao didn't even hesitate to say he'll kill Dark Choco" we say "He gave Dark Choco too many passes" /j

Remember, Affogato and Dark Choco both betrayed the kingdom (with different feelings) and look who is still welcomed, loved, and waited by the denizens and Dark Cacao lol

Tl;dr dark cacao's love language is "i'll let your bs pass this ONCE (proceeds to let it pass 29482939 times)"

[rxspbrrry]

i hope you missed me here's some thoughts and feelings about day 1-3 of chapter 2 of the cookie odyssey. read to your hearts content and enjoy the rare word vomit from me

warnings: spoilers duh, i ramble too much about clotted, excessive hatred towards his dad

“dark enchantress attack on creme republic” I FUCKING CALLED IT I FUCKING CALLED IT

creme republic is super sus. gap between poor, unfortunate and the rich and wealthy is SUPER big. no one knows that the people in the slums (old mud thingy? i forgot) are suffering and they are hidden from ousiders to promote “perfect image” of creme republic. only elders + cc knows about it and ignores it because they live in a life of luxury. also old people are stinky and selfish except pure vanilla

FUCK YOU CUSTARD COOKIE

everyone puts so much pressure on clotted???????? what hwat what??/ custurd’s expectations of him are unrealistic and you have to remember that guy suffers from before being consul (intensive training) and after being consul (expectation, stress, workload, image) does he ever get a break smhsmh

custard says “i saved you from ruins” did he come from a not so good background? but his mom dresses decently enough i think. doesn’t change the fact that cc led an unfortunate life, even when being brought up in house custard

LET HE SEE HIS FUCKING MOM SHE IS PROBABLY HIS ONLY SALVATION AT THIS POINT

FUCK YOU CUSTARD COOKIE

he’s been through verbal abuse but if he rebels or retaliates he loses all power all position all wealth. i think there was also some underlying threat that both he and his mom will be ruined if he ever messes up

ok what the FUCK is going on the in creme republic. the atmosphere is super nice and the art is gorgeous but. everyone is so terrible. elders only care for themselves, wealth and image. privileged citizens ignore those in the slums and those in the slums don’t speak up.

FUCK YOU CUSTARD COOKIE

what is clotted doing amidst the whole “rich-poor” gap thing though? he knows about it but is he doing anything about it? he probably has bigger things to worry about now but he should also solve this problem. promote equity yk but not to communist extent

loved crunchy chip + wildberry interactions. they’re so pure and cute i love them

interlude because tumblr has a word block limit

madeleine aunt’s are a whole mood. aunt behaviour being making too much food for guests (also asian aunt behaviour) and pampering their nephew. madeleine really grew up loved

(for end of day 3) so espresso finally succeeds in transferring the soul jam energy thing right? if i conclude correctly it means that in order for you to resonate with the soul jam energy you have to put something related to you/a part of what makes you, you, or simply a piece of your dough (in espresso’s case he put coffee and was able to touch the soul jam energy) does that mean that as long as the energy is connected to someone they can harness it? this can definitely help advance technology. but also really easy for someone to abuse the power

bet one of the stinky elders will misuse said power smh

pop off espresso

FUCK YOU CUSTARD COOKIE

espresso is a whole ass mood

i think he has death flags though, like day 3 just ends with espresso being fascinated with the success of harnessing the power. like is he gonna use it and maybe lose control? unlikely he will abuse it thats just not an espresso thing, but he might lose control of the newfound power

dragon eyes are sus

i love espresso’s rolled up sleeves costume it makes him look so handsome hehehe

clotted cream shows his “motivated” sprite so many times (for those that don’t get it, his shocked sprite is named “motivated” in the cookie run kingdom wiki. not sure if it’s fixed)

i want to continue studying the creme republic. i cannot emphasise how much the elders creep me out and make me uncomfortable. do the citizens even do shit? no they just sit around in their rich households waiting for their rich daddies to put food on the table. I HATE THE ELDERS GRRRR

FUCK YOU CUSTARD COOKIE

side note i really love clotted’s mom? light cream cookie or something? her voice is so soft and delicate i want to hug her

i want to hug clotted cream

FUCK YOU C—

“we were never allowed to eat sweets in the dark cacao kingdom” or something like that i forgot what crunchy chip says. but that’s hella sus, dark cacao what are you doing to your citizens???? its already implied in the story that no sugar intake makes the dark cacao citizens super malnourished. GIVE THEM SUGARRRRR

YOOOO SHADOW SISTER COOKIE??? missed her i wanna see her again oooooh sneaky sneaky. we havent seen her since like, may 2021?

#bringbacktowerofsweetchaos why is the story not updating. GIVE US ANOTHER TOSC UPDATE PLEASE

wildberry is funnier than i thought

THE MARKET SCENE WITH CRUNCHY CHIP BUYING THE TOY PUPPY AHAHHAAHJHKSAH

i hate the creme republic

i think that earthbread should have some sort of chinatown (solely because im chinese heeheheeee) but also because chinatown just feels more homey compared to the existing nations, aside from hollyberry kingdom. sinophobic people please go away im trying to ramble about my culture

who’s the closest cookie we have to being a culturally chinese character? kumiho doesnt count since shes japanese i think? or korean

pomegranate also gives off very east asian vibes but i cant quite put my finger on it

another interlude

i went off topic

FUCK YOU CUSTARD COOKIE

ok but what makes custard cookie think that cc seeing his bio mom will ‘distract” him from his duty as consul 💀💀💀💀 where is the logic. did he project his own daddy issues + dead mom problems onto his adoptive son

oh wait. *thinks deeply about it*

captain caviar looks super cool and the pointy parts of their hair remind me of sorbet shark

are the white masked guys a part of shadow sister’s plan? she hasn’t interacted with them yet i think

do you think clotted ever wished he had a nice, supportive and loving family when he was at madeleine’s and saw the latter being pampered by his aunts

religious themes are fairly present in creme republic (+ shadow sister was there, is there some propaganda being spread?) and you know how religious themes turn out in tower of sweet chaos

speaking of religious, kind of odd that the archbishop cookie and the other elder cookie didnt scream when they were attacked, since they are so “innocent and pure”. makes me think they organised this entire thing: hiring masked men to bring sugar golems into the city to distract clotted, while stealing the soul jam. what do they benefit from this? clotted’s downfall, ofc

felt a little sus the moment clotted said “help me keep the soul jam safe” like hell they were going to lmfao

will add more scrimblo thoughts later

[red-archivist]

Not quite part of the liveblog but, lil post-092 hc fic :3

~~ 

As he leaves Elias’ office, Jon’s feet automatically take him down the stairs leading to the archives.

  It is a habit that his long absence hasn’t managed to break but he stops himself from walking straight into his own office.

To do so, he would have to pass the open space where the assistants work, and call him a coward but he just isn’t quite ready to see the state that Elias’ little reveal has left the others in.

  He retreats to the breakroom instead, keeping the lights off and taking a moment to take a few steadying breaths in the cool darkness.

As soon as he stops moving, the injuries he has been ignoring loudly make themselves known.

The constant ache of his burned hand provides a low steady hum of contrast to the staccato pulse of his throbbing throat.

He needs to clean them both up in order to avoid infection, and if he doesn’t want some concerned passer-by to call an ambulance on him when he leaves, he will have to bandage his neck as well.

He walks to the nearest press and begins rooting around for the first aid kit. It doesn’t seem to be where he last saw it months ago and a stumbling search in the dim light reveals nothing to him.

Jon is about to give up and just try to give himself a bit of a rinse in the sink when suddenly the door creaks open, and the lights click on behind him.

He whirls around with his heart in his bloody throat expecting something to pounce on him. Perhaps it is Tim come to take his weary anger out on him? Or Daisy aiming to finish what she started? Or maybe Elias with some other unsolvable puzzle to dump into his lap?

The fright only lasts an instant however, when he sees who is standing in the doorway looking even more surprised to see him.

“Martin,” He sighs with relief.

Martin’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to find his voice.

“Uh, h-hi?”

“…Hi. Did you- Ah. W-Was the first aid kit moved?” Jon points to the mess he has made of the open presses.

Martin jumps in place before rushing forward.

“Oh! Uh, y-yeah, sorry!”

He crouches down to pull the kit out from under the sink and when Jon raises a questioning eyebrow, he shrugs meekly.

“Melanie moved it,” He says, “She said we all had to be able to reach it in an emergency.”

“Right.”

He takes the box from Martin with just one hand, keeping the bandaged one away from his body at an angle so it won’t bump into anything.

  It’s a heavy, clunky thing and hoisting it onto the counter makes his joints sting. Ignoring the pain, he flips the latch and starts rummaging through it. A thin roll of bandages, antiseptic cream, gauze and dressing are placed in a pile on the counter as he mentally goes through the half-remembered steps of cleaning an open wound.

Just as Jon starts to unravel the hand bandage, the side of his face burns with awareness. He looks over to find Martin staring at him.

  His gaze lingers on his hand, taking in the old bandages and his cracked nails, both still caked in grave dirt. Jon does his best not to squirm under the scrutiny.

 When Martin’s eyes dart to the mound of medical supplies Jon is compiling, he also realises he is taking up most of the counter space.

“Am I… in your way?” He asks, about to sweep it all to the side.

Martin starts, as if he just remembered where he was and stammers as he turns away from him

“N-No! Sorry, sorry!”

He fusses with the kettle, taking out mugs as it boils, and does not face Jon again.

Jon is glad for the privacy. He doesn’t want to look at his own hand any longer than he has to, no-one else needs to see it.

As he peels the rest of the dirty wrappings off, they catch on his ruined skin and he can’t quite hold back a pained hiss. The burn is still dreadful to see, blistered like bubbling wax and so red it’s almost black. It weeps a clear discharge, making the whole thing reek a fluid, animal smell.

  He rinses it off in the sink, pats it awkwardly dry, smears the whole thing in antiseptic cream and clumsily wraps it up again. It’s a messy, slow process and he barely remembers to clean his other hand as well.

Martin stays stock still as he works, standing guard over two brewing mugs and, as he glances at him, Jon can practically see the questions he wants to ask in the stiff line of his shoulders.

  Jon feels both grateful and guilty that Martin holds his tongue. He owes him answers but his mouth is so tired of talking.

Tentatively, he starts prodding at the cut on his neck. It is long but shallow, already clotting. He can feel the skin around it is tender with a blossoming bruise. Daisy wanted it to hurt.

Jon pries his mind away from that thought. If he thinks about how close he came to dying today, he won’t be able to keep himself standing, nevermind clean up.

He just needs to get through the next few steps, and then he can go back to Georgie’s, lay down somewhere quiet and try not to have a complete breakdown. Laying out gauze and dressing, he wets a clean tea towel. He is halfway to raising it to his neck before he realises his mistake.

“Damn.”

“…Jon?”

Martin is peering over his shoulder at him, concern drawn in deep lines around his face.

Jon blinks back at him. He had almost forgotten he was there.

“I… uh,” He waves the tea towel, “I need two hands, should have done this first.”

He is going to ruin the clean wrappings on his hand. He will either have to do them again or wait to get back to the house and hope Georgie won’t be too pissed off to help him. Clucking his tongue, he weighs up his options.

“Um… Do you…” Martin’s soft voice cuts across his thoughts, “I mean, I can… i-if you want?”

“What?” Jon turns and sees him holding out a hand for the tea towel, “Oh.”

“O-O-Only if you, y’know, you’re comfortable with…”

  Jon stares at him for a moment and regrets flickers across Martin’s face. He starts to draw his hand back.

“Uh, yes, no, I mean, I-I appreciate…” Jon stammers, “You don’t have to. I-I don’t want to interrupt… what you’re doing…”

The sheepishness fades from Martin as he chuckles slightly.

“I just came in to get a bit of a break from everyone else, really,” He immediately winces, “God, that sounded bad, didn’t it?”

“No… no, I understand.”

  Martin smiles slightly and Jon’s feels his lips twitch upward in response.

“So, uh,” Martin holds his hand out again and Jon passes him the towel, “Might be easier to sit.”

“Right.”

Jon brings the gauze and dressing to the rickety coffee table while Martin wrings out the towel in the sink. They sit facing each other, and Martin scoots close enough that their knees brush.

“Can you lift your chin?” He asks, “And please tell me if I hurt you?”

Jon raises his head and stares into the yellowing florescent light embedded in the ceiling as Martin starts delicately dabbing at the cut.

It stings, of course. He can feel the edges of the wound prickle with pain as the meagre scabbing that covered them is wiped away. He hopes he isn’t letting it show on his face.

It is a little uncomfortable, letting someone else touch his neck. Especially someone he hasn’t seen for over two months. He peers at Martin out of the corner of his eye.

  He looks exhausted. There are heavy bags under his eyes and the light from above washes him out terribly, making him seem even paler than usual. His hair has grown a bit, more from neglect than choice. His fringe droops over the frame of his glasses.

Guilt bites at the back of Jon’s mind. Without him here, he is almost certain Martin has been doing the lion’s share of the work in the archives. Melanie is only new to the position and Tim… Jon is doubtful Tim has been working at all.

  Martin mumbles a pre-emptive apology as he moves the towel slowly over the cut. His touch is soft but steady, gentle in a way that is completely alien to Jon.

Martin’s gaze is focused on Jon’s neck, intent on washing away every speck of pain scrawled onto it. Instead of the sting of the wound, Jon feels something in his chest ache.

He can’t remember the last time anyone was this careful with him. That thought, more than the pinch of physical pain, makes his eyes water.

He blinks rapidly and rattles his brain for anything that will keep his mind off of how tender Martin’s touch is.

His mouth runs ahead of his head and he tries not to swallow too hard as he speaks.

“Martin… ah…”

“Sorry, am I pressing too hard?” The pressure on his throat eases slightly and Jon wills himself not to chase after it.

“No, no, I just, ah, I wanted to-” Jon bites his tongue in his haste to speak, “H-H-Have you been getting on alright?”

The pressure disappears entirely as Martin reels back to gawk at him, his mouth hanging open in shock. Jon might be offended at his surprise if he wasn’t too busy kicking himself.

He keeps babbling before Martin even has a chance to respond.

“God, that’s stupid- stupid question, of course you’re not-!” He sighs, “Just- Ignore me. Apologies.”

He looks back up to the breakroom lights, his face burning hot.

Martin chuckles.

Jon dares to glance at him.

The surprise has faded into something softer, a not-quite-there smile lingering on his lips.

“Yeah…” He agrees quietly, “That… is pretty stupid.”

“Well-! Pardon me for asking,” Jon snaps.

Martin’s smile grows.

“I’ve… I’ve got a pretty stupid answer for it though?”

“Uh,” Jon leans forward in his seat, “Yes?”

“Despite um, well, all of it…” Martin swings a hand around the room, “It’s… It’s really good to see you, Jon.”

He stares.

  It’s Martin’s turn to try and hide from the scrutiny. Jon watches with fascination as he starts to turn a blotchy red.

He doesn’t understand. The last time they spoke, Jon gave him nothing but a weak apology after suspecting him of murder and invading his privacy for months. Martin should be angry at him, or maybe even afraid. Jon doesn’t want him to be, but he would understand if he were.

Instead, Martin sits in front of him with a shy smile and soft hands, helping him, missing him. Jon can’t possibly understand that.

He opens his mouth without any clue as to what to say.

“That… doesn’t actually answer my question?” He says weakly.

Martin laughs. Not a chuckle or a giggle but a full-throated belly laugh. It is a sound Jon has never heard from him before. His face feels even warmer.

As soon as he calms down, Martin shakes his head before delicately placing his fingertips on Jon’s chin and tilting his head upward.

“I guess not.”

He finishes cleaning and dressing the wound in silence. When he presses the dressing against the cut to make sure its smooth, Jon can’t help but shudder.

A frown crosses Martin’s brow.

“Don’t suppose I can convince you to see a doctor about this?”

“You suppose correct,” Jon sighs.

Martin clucks his tongue but doesn’t push him any further.

Jon is overcome with the sudden desire to sit in this chair for the remainder of the afternoon, resting in Martin’s half-joking disapproval with their kneecaps just about touching.

He is also keenly aware that that desire isn’t something he can afford to indulge in.

With a weary groan, he hauls himself upright.

  “I… appreciate the help.”

Grabbing the now-stained tea towel, he turns away to toss it in the sink.

“O-Oh, uh, sure, anytime,” Martin says automatically, “Well, n-no, not anytime- I didn’t mean- I don’t want you to get hurt again or a-anything!”

“It’s fine, Martin, I know what you meant.”

He puts the first aid kit back under the sink and pats his pockets to make sure he has all the things he came in with. It’s not much.

“Right, I won’t be back today, but I’ll be in the office tomorrow.”

“You’d better not be!” Martin exclaims, suddenly loud.

Jon blinks at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re hurt! You need rest!” Martin squeaks indignantly, “Proper rest, Jon not just a half-day off!”

“I- Wh- You can’t stop me coming to work!”

“I bloody well can!”

Jon boggles as a memory suddenly strikes him full-force. He had tried coming back to the archives early after Prentiss’ attack as well, hadn’t he? Martin had practically carried out of the building. At the time, it was just another reason for Jon to be suspicious of him. Now, he can see it for what it was.

  Martin cared.

  He still cares, whether that care takes the form of washing his wounds or scolding him for his poor work-life balance. It’s not a feeling Jon is familiar with.

Martin still sits at the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest, colour high in his cheeks. With a wistful smile, Jon decides to let him have his way. It’s paltry thanks for his ministrations, but it is all Jon has.

“Alright.”

Martin’s glare vanishes under his shock.

“Alright?”

Jon nods.

  “Alright. I’ll rest.”

“Oh! Oh. …Good!”

“It’s what, Friday now?” Jon says, “Maybe I’ll even take the weekend off.”

“Wow, let’s not go overboard,” Martin grumbles.

Jon snorts, hiding his laughter behind his bandaged hand. Martin smiles brightly and somehow, gets even redder.

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Jon heads for the door. His feet are like lead weights and he already knows he is going to have to stop himself from napping on the tube. He can sleep properly once he is back at Georgie’s. It might even be nice to rest, for once.

He pauses in the doorway, glancing back.

Martin has stood up, his arms still crossed even as he flicks a hand up.

“See you.”

As he stares at him, Jon’s chest aches again. He is overcome with the urge to speak, as if that will ease it.

“For what it is worth… It is really good to see you too.”

Martin’s face goes slack with a look as soft and tender as his hand was on Jon’s throat. It makes the ache worse.

Jon turns away without another word, knocks once on the doorframe and walks away.

  As he heads for the stairs, his hand still throbs, and his neck still stings but it is the hurt in his heart that distracts him. The sound of Martin’s laughter echoes in his head and Jon thinks that this particular pain is one he doesn’t mind keeping.

[phoenix-downer]

Spring Birthday

After Sora’s return, Naminé’s friends celebrate her birthday with her. While her early days were lonely, her life is very different now, and she treasures each new memory with the people dear to her heart.

~1650 words. Post-Kingdom Hearts III and Melody of Memory. Gen, Friendship, Fluff. Naminé POV. Written for @naminezine​, and the banner art is by the lovely @somniumars​.

“Naminé, when is your birthday?” Kairi asked over breakfast one day, scones with jam and clotted cream, served with a hot cup of tea for both of them. They liked to visit this cafe together at least once a month. It had outdoor seating, and the weather was finally warm enough again for them to sit outside with light jackets. 

Naminé stopped buttering her scone for a moment and frowned. It was a simple enough question, and yet she found herself unsure of what to say. 

“Well, I suppose it was the day Sora released his heart to save you,” she said at last. “But as glad as I am to be alive, it feels strange to celebrate that day, considering what happened.” 

“I understand,” Kairi said softly. “Are there any other days you can think of?”

Naminé paused once more and thought as Kairi sipped some more of her tea. The only other day she could really think of was… 

“The day of my rebirth. It was spring on Radiant Garden. The sun was shining, the flowers were blooming, and the weather was perfect.” She sighed happily at the memory. “I’ll never forget what it felt like to walk outside for the first time in a body of my own.”

“Then why don’t we make that your birthday? I know we technically missed it last year, when we were all searching for Sora, but it’s coming up here soon.” 

“Sure, that sounds nice.” Naminé put one more cube of sugar in her tea to get it to just the right sweetness, then added a little more cream and stirred. “I’ve never really thought about having a birthday of my own before.”

“Well, you deserve to have one,” Kairi said with a determined glint in her eye. “You’re your own person. Always have been, always will be.”

The two girls chatted some more as they finished their breakfast, and the subject soon slipped away from Naminé’s mind. It wasn’t until she and Xion were gathering shells together on Destiny Islands a few days later when the topic of birthdays came up again.

“See,” Xion said as she picked up a thalassa shell, “I like these ones the most, with the pink centers and yellow edges.” 

“I like them too. Yellow’s one of my favorite colors.”

Yellow was the color of the sun. A hopeful color for a girl that had begun her life in a cage, longing to see the outdoors for herself. For that reason alone it was precious to her. 

“You like blue too, right?” Xion said. She placed another thalassa shell in Naminé’s palm, this one with a blue center and yellow edges.

Naminé nodded. “Yes. Blue is the color of the sky… of the waves… all the things I longed to see when I was imprisoned in Castle Oblivion.” 

“It suits you, and so does yellow,” Xion said with a smile. “Born from the waves, and reborn during the spring.” 

“Xion, when is your birthday?” Naminé suddenly asked. She realized she hadn’t really gotten to celebrate it with her before. 

“Oh, my birthday? I figured it should be during the fall. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been drawn to falling leaves, the seasons changing, that kind of thing.” She smiled ruefully. “I suppose because I felt like my time was limited, just like those leaves. Kairi actually asked me about it recently, I think because she wants to—”  

Her eyes went wide, then she coughed and craned her neck. “Look, I see some more shells over there!”

Naminé found Xion’s startled reaction rather curious, but she didn’t press her friend. It was just nice to spend time together sharing a hobby they both enjoyed. For a girl who had started life with no friends of her own, Naminé was lucky to have so many now. 

The next time she met with her friends, it was for a picnic on Rapunzel’s world, in a clearing in the woods near a small pool. The weather was perfect, sunny with a breeze blowing dandelions and flower petals through the air, and she and Sora and Rapunzel were all cloud gazing after a delicious lunch of sandwiches and cookies and lemonade. 

“See that one right there?” Rapunzel said, pointing up at the sky. “It looks like Maximus.” 

“It sure does!” Sora put his hand behind his neck and grinned. “The sky’s full of all sorts of interesting clouds today.” 

“I wish I had my sketchbook with me,” Naminé said with a sigh. “I’d love to draw all of them.” 

“Take a picture with your Gummiphone then,” Sora suggested. “You can always draw it later based off of that.” 

“I’d like to, but I’ve run out of room in my sketchbook. I could really use some new pencils, too.”

Sora and Rapunzel exchanged glances, and Sora grinned.

“Naminé, you should come to the castle,” Rapunzel said. “I’d love to show you some of my art supplies. Have you ever tried painting before?”

Naminé shook her head. “No, I haven’t, but I’d love to. Thank you for the invitation.”

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go now!” Sora sat up and sprang to his feet. 

The three of them spent the rest of the afternoon trying out Rapunzel’s art supplies. Well, more like Rapunzel showed Naminé her things and let her try them out while Sora kept typing away at his Gummiphone. Naminé giggled at how he still typed with one finger, like a bird pecking at grains of rice. 

“There we go,” he said all of a sudden, then put his phone in his pocket. “What’d I miss?”

Naminé and Rapunzel both giggled and showed him what they’d made: a painting to hang on the walls of Naminé’s room in Twilight Town. It was of the beautiful woods where they’d had the picnic with dandelions flower petals floating through the air. As soon as she got home, she put it up and gave it a satisfied nod.

The days flew by until at last it was the anniversary of her rebirth. There was a knock on the door late in the afternoon, and when she went to get it, she was surprised to see Riku and Roxas waiting there for her.

“Hey Naminé,” Roxas greeted with a grin. His eyes were playful, like he had a big secret he couldn’t wait to share.

“Come with us, there’s something we’d like to show you,” Riku added, and she ducked back inside to grab a few things before following them through the woods and to the Old Mansion. 

“Why are we here?” she asked. 

“You’ll see,” was all Roxas and Riku said, and she followed them inside. She was shocked by how nice the entrance looked, like someone had been in here and cleaned things up—

“Surprise!”

She gasped as she entered the foyer. A huge banner hanging from the stairs read Happy Birthday Naminé, and all her friends were gathered around a large table in the center of the room. The evening light shone through the window behind them, pink and purple and blue, another gorgeous twilight on this world she called home now. 

“Happy Birthday Naminé!” her friends all cheered, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. So this was what they had been plotting and planning all this time. Roxas grinned and grabbed a camera to take a few shots, and Sora and Riku had some of those confetti poppers that they popped with loud crackling noises.  

The seashell decorations were yellow and the star candles were blue on the cake Xion held. Axel lit the candles, and they cast flickering lights and shadows over everyone’s faces.

Kairi leaned close and murmured, “Make a wish, but keep it secret.”

“A secret?” Naminé asked, tilting her head.

“It won’t come true if you tell us,” Ven explained, and Terra nodded. 

As Naminé looked at the faces of her friends, what she should wish for became clear. She knew, deep in her heart, what she wanted more than anything.

With that, she blew out the candles, and everyone cheered loudly. Aqua swept the cake out of Xion’s hands so she could cut it properly, and then everyone sat around the table. The cake was delicious, vanilla and lemon, and after everyone was done eating, it was time for Naminé to open her presents. 

“Here!” Sora said, his eyes shining as he handed her the first one. “It’s from all of us.”

Naminé’s hands shook as she removed the wrapping paper. She wasn’t used to getting gifts, and it took her some time to free the box. But once she did, she couldn’t have stopped the smile on her face even if she’d wanted to.

“They’re like the paints Rapunzel has! And in all the colors I like too.” She hugged the box to her chest. “Oh, thank you so much everyone, I can’t wait to use these.” 

When she was finished unwrapping the rest of her presents, more art supplies and nice jewelry and cute clothes, she thanked her friends for making this such a wonderful birthday night. But there was one last thing that would make it truly perfect.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Naminé said, “let’s make a painting together. So we have something to help us remember tonight.”

Naminé loved drawing on her own, but drawing with her friends was truly wonderful. Everyone brought their own unique spark to the table. And when the painting was finished, it was one huge flowing mosaic of color and life and creativity. Sure, it wasn’t a masterpiece, but it was something truly unique that only they could have made. And that was why it was a work of art. Not because it was perfect or technically skilled, but because it had their hearts poured into it.

Naminé couldn’t have asked for a better way to commemorate her birthday.  

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thank you so much to the mods for making this project possible and for being so caring and supportive! And thank you to the other contributors, this zine was such a joy and I enjoyed talking to you all. A big thank you too to Somnium for drawing the banner! I really enjoyed working with you!

And thank you for reading!

[anarchyduck]

[appear] “ i need help. please. ” gerfra

So sorry this took for-freaking-ever OTL ---------------------

Takes place: 1942, Paris

  Germany does not find sleep easily anymore. The wheels in his head continue turning, agonizing over battle plans and strategies, over conversations he held with subordinates and superiors. He thinks about the paperwork that sits untouched on his desk, in untidy piles that would usually dive him made. A half empty bottle of brandy sits in the middle of it all, a glass of it in his hand as he stares out the window to the Parisian streets.

 A rapid knock breaks through his thoughts and he stills, waiting. It is late and he is not expecting company at this hour. Another knock pushes him to move. He sets the glass down on the desk as he crosses the room, hand on his pistol as he nears the door. Thoughts filter through one by one, all with the touch of paranoia as he wonders who it could be.

 “I know you’re there.” A voice, tired and strained, and slightly muffled through the wooden door. “Don’t be rude.”

 A moment of shock stills his actions but then Germany opens the door. France stands before him, his clothes shuffled and worn. His face is narrower than last time Germany saw him, and he looks in need of a shave. More alarming than that is the blood that covers the side of his face.

 “I need your help.” He says before Germany can ask. Tired blue eyes fix on him. “Please.”

 He should not. He knows he should not. The last time he saw France was nearly two years ago after taking Paris. How tall and mighty France stood high even after being defeated. He was bloody then too. Though he was hurting, he walked with his head held high and greeted him with the same grace and charm Germany remembered him for. He came willingly and there was no need for shackles. Few days later, France was gone. Now here he stands, dressed in dirty clothes at his door.

 Germany pulls him inside, closes and locks the door behind them. “You shouldn’t be here.”

 France laughs dryly. “I could say the same about you.” He stumbles in his step before sitting down heavily in the closest chair. He groans as he leans his head back, his eyes falling close as he rests.

 Germany realizes the strange situation he has found himself in. His enemy enters his living quarters in the dead of night, wounded and exhausted. He doubts France has the strength to fight back. The thought of radioing it in snakes into his mind. He should call it in. France would be arrested, placed into the cuffs that he avoided before. It would certainly resolve some problems. His superiors would congratulate him for the capture. Something about it does not sit well. The mental image of France being carried away to execution makes his stomach churn.

 He finds himself walking to the bathroom to retrieve a first aid kid and wet washcloth. France is still in the same position when he returns and, were it not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Germany might have suspected him to be dead.

 A chair scraps across the wood floor as Germany pulls it around the coffee table to France's side. He sets the kit down and, with the cloth, begins to carefully wipe the blood from the man’s face. “What happened?” he asks.

 “Just a touch of carelessness on my part.” France replies. His eyes are still closed, though his brows twitch together every so often.

 “Thought you had gone south.”

 “I did, for a time. But I missed my city.”

 Germany continues cleaning the blood away and finally finds a wound at France's hairline. It is clotted and closed now, though he wonders if it needs stitching. His brows pull together, and he moves the cloth away with a frown. The thought from before resurfaces once again, gnawing at his mind. A little voice tells him to call for reinforcements and another tells him to take care of it himself. Other questions came to mind, the top of them being why was France back in Paris?

 France's eyes open and he tilts his head to look at him. He looks awful, Germany thinks. Cheeks are hollower than he remembers. Dark circles beneath his eyes and a day-old bruise on his jaw. A still healing scrape blemishes his cheek and he looks tired. Worn thin. “So?” he asks, drawing Germany from his observations. “How bad is it?”

 “It’s fine. You’ll live.”

 “What wonderful news.” France says and Germany cannot discern if it was sarcasm or not.

 He stands and takes the bloodied cloth to wash in the sink. When he returns, France is helping himself to the brandy at his desk. Germany stills a moment and thinks of the many secret documents laying open on his desk. The paranoid voice hisses in the forefront of his mind and he chooses not to pay mind to it. Instead, he looks at the man standing by the window that overlooks the city. How delicately he holds the glass as he drinks, the moonlight in his hair.

 “Quiet night.” France says. “Never could stand the quiet when I was younger and now, I don’t mind it much. This industrial age is so noisy that I almost wish for quiet nights again.” He takes a sip then looks to Germany. “Suppose you wouldn’t know much about those nights, would you? Long before the wonders of electricity and automobiles.”

 “Why are you here, France?”

 “This is yours, yes?” France picks up the other glass of brandy Germany left on his desk and holds it out to him. “Drink with me. And do not worry, I didn’t poison it.”

 “I wasn’t thinking that.” Germany retorts as he takes the offered glass and, if to prove his point, takes a sip. France smiles lightly in approval.

 “We both know it would take more than poison to harm you.” he says calmly. “It is exhilarating, no?”

 Germany frowns, mind scrambling to catch up. “What?”

 “Conquering. The rush of new territory folded into you. Better than any drug in the world. Better than sex.” France chuckles lightly as Germany’s cheeks color red. “Once you have that first taste, you only crave it more. Don’t you, Germany?”

 “I don’t believe that’s an accurate description.”

 “But you do understand, don’t you? The good and the bad of it.” France swirls the liquor around in his glass. “All that territory, it doesn’t belong to you. Your body becomes a war within itself and you crave more in hopes it will satisfy the ache.”

 “Why are you here?” Germany asks again.

 France exhales a sigh and, for a moment, stares into the swirling brandy. Then he takes a drink and says, “Wonder if I could take a bath while I’m here?”

 Just how long does France intend to stay, he wonders. His mind wars with itself, frustrated he cannot gauge a proper read off the Frenchman. A thought that sounds awfully like his brother tells him to not to trust France. Do not turn your back, it says. Then again, Gilbert said that about many other nations. His chest tightens slightly at the thought of his brother and quickly pushes it out of his mind.

 “Yes, of course.” he replies, and France smiles again.

 “Thank you, my dear.” He finishes his glass in one swallow then sets it down onto the desk. Germany watches him go down the hallway and hears a door close. He drums his fingers around the glass in hand and looks to the empty one on the table. Pipes rattle in the apartment walls as he faintly hears the rush of water and he wonders how he has fallen into playing host to his enemy. He knows the trouble they will both be in if someone caught them.

 If.

 Germany’s mind falls back on France’s hollow cheeks and before he realizes it, he is in the kitchen preparing to reheat soup from earlier.

 France emerges sometime later. In the time spent, Germany has cleared his desk and consumed another glass of brandy. It is enough to finally take the edge off and silence the whispers that slither in his mind. Soup is sitting warm on the kitchen stove, its smell taking over the small apartment. He wonders if it will be enough. If France will take it alone or if he will distrust a meal from his enemy. He looks up as his new guest enters the kitchen and frowns lightly.

 “Are those my clothes?”

 “Found them in the wardrobe. Hope you don’t mind.” France finishes buttoning the cream-colored shirt, leaving the last few buttons at the top undone. It hangs from his body though not in the same way it does to Italy. Though he is broader and taller than France, Germany cannot help thinking the clothes should not hang off that much. “God, I remember when you were smaller.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “You used to be this cute little darling that Prussia adored showing off. And now look at you, all grown up.” France exhales a sigh as he ties back his still damp hair. Few stands escape to frame his face and it's then Germany notices he has shaved. The shadows beneath his eyes remain, as does the bruise on his jaw. His eyes drift upward to the cut on his forehead and feels relief when he sees it is nearly healed. His gaze catches France’s and he sees the man smirking at him. “See something you like, Germany?”

 Germany’s face warms and he hastily turns away towards the stove to lift the pot and stir the soup. Behind, France chuckles lightly and he wonders how much of this the man enjoys. All of it, he realizes. Would it be too late now to throw him out of the apartment? His jaw tightens for a second as he ladles some soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table.

 “Thought you would be hungry so I…” he trails off awkwardly as he catches France’s still smiling at him. He is not sure what about this time.

 “How kind.” France muses. He takes the seat and stirs the contents around in the bowl with his spoon. Faintly, Germany wonders if the man will take food from him. Would he think it was poisoned? But then the worries fade as France begins to eat.

 “Entire city is rationing and here you are with real meat.” he comments between bites. “I thought all resources were going to the front.”

 Germany’s jaw tightens as he frowns. “They are,” he replies.

 “Don’t suppose you have cigarettes on hand, do you?”

 “I don’t smoke.”

 France raises a brow at him and puts his spoon down. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin metal container from his pocket. “Then what’s this?”

 “Gift.” Germany replies. “But I don’t smoke.”

“Hm. Mind if I do?” France asks as he pulls out one of the cigarettes from the box. He quickly lights it and inhales deep, holds it, then exhales. Germany waves off the smoke that wafts in his direction and moves to take the other seat at the table. They sit in relative silence. While France smokes and eats, Germany once again attempts to figure out the situation he has found himself in.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimes twice as France lights his second cigarette. “Does it ever stop?” he asks suddenly.

Germany frowns. “Does what stop?”

“Those gears in your mind.” France leans back into his chair, cigarette between two fingers as he looks at him. “They have been excessively turning since I arrived. You’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

“I am curious, yes.”

France hums in his throat and brings the cigarette to his lips. Smoke curls in the light as it floats about the room. “You wonder if I am here to steal your precious plans. Stuff papers and secret documents into my trousers and carry them off to my leaders.” He takes another drag, the end lighting on the inhale. “Or perhaps I sneak into your bed and slit your throat while you sleep.”

 Germany’s brow furrows. “The thought crossed my mind, yes.” he says tensely. “Why else would you come back, knowing the danger.”

 He laughs and flicks ash into the empty soup bowl. “My dear, I’m not crude like Arthur.” he says. “Besides, in my current state, I could not hurt you even if I wanted to.” 

“Then what do you want?” Smoke swirls around France and it reminds him of Bismarck. When Prussia brought him to Versailles to be crowned as the new German Empire. He had his first cigar then and found it distasteful. It made his eyes water and the smell clung to his clothes for days. France had been there too. Silent and seething from across the room when Wilhelm was proclaimed emperor.

“What I want,” The memory fades as France begins to speak. “I cannot have.” He takes another long drag and Germany wonders if he intends smoking it down to the end as he did the first one. “Least not immediately, so I will settle for second.” 

“Which is?” 

 “A soft bed to start,” France’s lips curl into a smile. “And perhaps your warm company.”

“No.” Germany says immediately and leaves the table, ears growing warm as France’s laughter trails behind him.

[zephyr-together]

it’s been exactly one month since top surgery! here’s a summary of what all went down! disclaimer: please do not feel that you need to feel pressured to remember things from this post or any other, your doctor should instruct you on the most important things to do or not do, and also this is my experience and everyone’s will be different! 

I saw Dr. Kenneth Wolf! I highly recommend him if you’re in the area or able to get to him, very skilled and very cheap (only was $5400, $5900 if you get nipple grafts which I ended up deciding not to have) there is a 250 lb weight limit though, they weigh you the day of surgery so if you’re unsure if you’ll be able to make it I’d suggest seeing a surgeon who operates more on plus sized folks

he was/is SUPER booked, I had my consultation in October and had to schedule surgery in June. this made me confident I made the right decision though because of how many people go to him, and having to be stuck in the body I didn’t want for a lot longer than I thought made me more eager to have it so I wasn’t as scared as I would have been otherwise. that being said, it might be smart to ask ahead how long the wait time is so that you can save during that time! because I didn’t know about the wait I had already had most of my money that I got together since last June so I could’ve had it about four months sooner, but hey everything worked out in the end :) 

speaking of saving money, for this doctor there’s a $500 down payment that I paid when I went to the consultation visit (if you’re out of the area they can do consultation over email btw!) the rest was collected about a week and a half before surgery. I have a debit card so it had to be split up in three transactions. I’m very thankful they worked with me on that!

I went into a small room where the doctor met me, marked me up and took my picture. then he said the anesthesiologist would meet me, which she did in a few minutes and went over a bit of questions/paperwork and took me to the operating room! 

I lied down on a table with my arms out, it felt like I was an alien getting vivisected, that combined with my needlephobia made that a bit scary but I’ve been waiting so long so it was exciting too. they had me hooked up to an IV but I think they did that while I was under because I felt the needle go in and then out. and then in a minute I was out! 

I wasn’t aware of this because it was during the surgery but they have a machine to massage your legs to keep up circulation and I had a tube down my throat too. when I woke up the first thing I hear is “the surgery was a success!! :D” and it felt like a weird dream because of anesthesia but in what felt like a few minutes I was almost as awake as normal which was surprising because I was out of it for hours after getting wisdom teeth out so I thought this would be way worse in that way

I had three intense sensations when I woke up: nausea, tightness and hunger. they asked right away if I was nauseous and gave me an alcohol patch to put on my nose which immediately took the feeling completely away. I had a very specific craving for Burger King’s impossible whopper, I think that’s because of not being able to eat I wanted something substantial like meat (vegetarian so closest thing to it) and something QUICK because hungy 

the tightness was pretty intense and unexpected, I felt desperate to rip off my surgical vest but they assured me it’s actually fairly loose. I think it’s just the incisions that give you a tight sensation but what you see and feel on your body is the vest so your brain says that’s the culprit I think. as time went on I ended up feeling desperate for the vest actually but I’ll go into that later

when I got the whopper I’m VERY thankful my dad who met us after picking it up also got the milkshake because I couldn’t produce saliva at all and didn’t know that would happen. I think that’s from having the tube in my mouth. I also could barely hold anything with my left hand because of that being the arm I had the IV in, but both the no saliva and limp left hand things went away in a few hours I think

by the time we got home which was I think an hour and a half after I woke up, I had really intense pain in my throat and under my armpits. the painkillers they gave me eventually kicked in about an hour or so after I took them, I’d suggest to bring them to surgery maybe if possible so you can take them asap, I think I wouldn’t have had that at all if I did, at that level of intensity anyway. for my throat I basically went nuts and drank water, had popsicles, ice cream, fruit, cough syrup, etc and it went away in 2-3 days or so

speaking of the pain under my armpits, that was from the tubes in me to drain extra unwanted blood and puss and stuff like that, it sounds super awful but I wasn’t allowed to remove the vest for five days and I’m naturally sweaty so I didn’t even know there were tubes in me or that I was draining until like four days later. I was stuffed with tons of gauze under the vest so eventually when I did notice the drainage we pulled out the dirty ones and pushed in some clean ones (they provide you with the same kind of gauze). the main awful thing about it was just the idea of having tubes in me, it didn’t bother me so much when I thought it was part of the incision haha...

now that I complained about the tube and throat pain I will say the “pain” for me of the actual incision area was almost nothing for me at all, just a bit of a weird tingly or pokey sensation every so often and that’s all really. but again everyone is different ! 

appetite was funny because it felt like I’d feel really hungry and eat hardly anything and feel good! another post suggested to have pineapple to help with bruising and I think it worked because I ate pineapple constantly and had pretty much no bruising at all

also I hope this isn’t too gross but I couldn’t pee and I was constipated. it wasn’t too much trouble because for the. pee I could just push and it’d come and for constipation that’s a problem that happens for me in general. both took about a week to wear off. they’re side effects of anesthesia I believe. other side effects I had from that were my legs and arms would feel pretty sore at times and my legs were wobbly, they said that I’d need to move my legs around a bit every once in a while to prevent clotting and I got a bit nervous about that so I ended up going for two walks a day! probably not needed to do that much but I think it helped speed up leg recovery 

after that more intense pain was gone after just a few hours I felt fine to watch shows and play viddy games! I thought I’d be zonked out for days or something but I was pretty alert after just a few minutes of coming out like I said. I could’ve probably drawn or made plushies too but it just felt so weird to move my arms at that point and was probably for the best I didn’t and just watched stuff and played games and slept a lot. it felt a bit frustrating how boring it was at times after a week or so but I just focused on how much of my life I’ll feel good now because of this so the recovery time isn’t that bad knowing that

five days after the surgery I had my first post op appointment! this was for the doctor to inspect the incisions, give us ointment to put on the scars and more gauze, and to finally be able to throw away all of the gauze that was under the vest! at this point I was allowed to take off the vest to replace the gauze and put ointment on as well as shower, and was given bandaids to put on the tubes for showering. however the sensation of not having the vest on at this point was SO horrible to me, I felt like a doll that was being pulled and unraveled apart, it made me want to throw up too so I took a shower as fast as possible and then just opted to get my hair shampooed at salons every other day for a couple weeks, so in retrospect I could have not gone five days with no shampoo but nothing can go absolutely perfectly after all!

a couple days later I ran out of oxycodone and tried replacing it with motrin which gave me three vivid nightmares in a row of having really bad fights with my parents and friend over dumb things which sounds silly but it messed me up emotionally and I kept sobbing uncontrollably out of nowhere that I felt like such a burden to take care of. I thought I was just emotional from the surgery but as soon as I switched to tylenol that went away completely! I don’t think it’s that motrin is bad because I looked it up and it’s a rare side effect, it’s just either that my body specifically doesn’t like it or it was the way it was combined with the antibiotic I had 

the second post op was to remove the tubes and it was 13 days after the first post op. they said if you live out of the area you can remove the tubes yourself so I’m very thankful we’re in the area haha. the left tube came out so smooth and quick that I didn’t feel it even come out at all! the second hurt for a second but I think because it kept getting bent backwards but it didn’t hurt too much. the tubes were SUPER wiggly and actually pretty flat so I think they’re constantly improving them to make them less and less noticeable. 

I was told I had to use the bandaids on my holes for showering and keep gauze on them too for just two more days and I could also throw the vest away then. I still felt too sensitive to get rid of the vest yet and wore it for another week, I still have it in case I want it for now (been going without it for about three days at this point) it still feels very strange without it since it feels like it’s holding you together but I think no matter how healed you are it will a shock to your body to not have that on anymore...also the “holes” from the tubes are more like slits which just look like slightly more open areas of the incisions so it’s barely noticeable. there’s some swelling where that used to be but that’s going down! 

now at this point where I’m at, I still feel best putting ointment on with gauze and bandage wraps I bought as a transition from the vest to nothing under the shirt which seems to be working pretty well! it might be that I’m autistic that I’m so sensitive to that feeling and had to have my vest on longer and now this instead of nothing. also I took three weeks off of work initially (I work a desk job) and asked for a couple more weeks of working from home before going back to the office to be able to adjust

also I will say if you live alone, I think you can handle surgery and taking care of yourself if you’re determined, as long as nothing you need to use to feed yourself and whatnot is up too high, too low, or too heavy. but if you can I’d highly suggest staying with someone who can help take care of you, it really helps easy the transition. in my summary I will say there was almost no pain at all but a whole lot of WEIRD stuff I wasn’t used to, but in the end it’s not a whole lot to deal with, considering! 

[cyberneticlagomorph]

"Look," said the Writer in between sips of honey-laden tea, because no serious conversation should ever be had on an empty stomach, "You're the one who wanted to end your story." 

He looked at Jack over the rim of his mug, watching the fairy nervously pile a scone high with jam and clotted cream. 

The motions seem practiced, mechanical. 

As if this had nothing to do with eating, and Jack was just a robot built to put things on scones.

In truth, the former protagonist looked nauseous, tired, like a ghost of himself. 

"You can't undo everything just because you're bored," the Writer continued, nibbling at a finger sandwich full of butter and brie, "believe it or not, your actions have consequences, shocking I know."

Jack's ear twitched, the left one, the one that used to be broken all those Rewrites ago. The memory seemed… right and real, not like the memories of things that were Retconned, things he wasn't supposed to remember.

He… he couldn't organize his thoughts, let alone put them into words. 

He wasn't sure if he was disassociating or distracted or ... or… anything. 

Words were still words, Jack could still understand the Writer when he spoke. 

So that was... good?

Jack sat very still, and gazed at the table in front of him. It was low, round, and made of glass. The legs were metal, simple rounded shapes, that didn't draw too much attention or compromise the initial design. 

Very simple. 

Very bland.

But still a decent piece of furniture. 

He couldn't think of anything to do except look and watch and listen.

He couldn't think at all.

Couldn't speak. 

He just sat there like a puppet with cut strings, feeling… feeling nothing at all.

He knew that this should all be intensely alarming, but it wasn't.

And that was worse.

His tongue felt thick and dry in his mouth as he struggled to move it enough to form words, "W… what's ha… happening to… to me?" 

The Writer took another sip of his tea and shrugged, "Dunno, you're not mine anymore, and neither is your Narrative." He poured himself more tea, adding a generous spoon of honey to it, "You ended it, you took control, it's your problem now."

"You… hurt… me…" said the rabbit, soft and slow, like he was struggling to breathe. The Writer scoffed, tearing a bite out of his scone with such violence that Jack had no choice but to flinch.

"That's what authors DO, we hurt our characters to make them better, you can't make bread without beating the hell out of some dough first." He finished the scone and started to slather another one with honey. 

Jack stared at the table.

Bland

Simple

Glass

On it sat a teapot on a wicker trivet

Jars of honey, jam, and clotted cream

A plate of finger sandwiches: butter and brie, cucumber, and turkey

A plate of scones

Two mugs of tea

One neglected and cold

His

Jack's 

He stared at the mug very quietly. 

"You went too far…" Jack whispered, picking up the mug, feeling his magic spark through his fingertips automatically. Steam curled into his face as he sipped his tea, the heat sinking into his hands and… and what?

"Not far enough, judging by the looks of you… the Narrative is under your control but you don't know what to do with it, or where to even start." The Writer stood, dusting crumbs from his lap, "Most would call that writer's block, but I know better."

[beccarue]

I had a miscarriage Monday.

I’m sure some of you remember our first baby was through IVF--I’m pretty familiar with things being painful and not easy...so when we recently conceived two and a half years after our IVF baby was born—naturally and ‘accidentally’ (without even trying) I was in disbelief. I couldn’t get past how easy it actually was/should be for couples to get pregnant. It was too good (and free!) to be true. But it happened to us, which was just so absolutely bizarre feeling, but like in a good way. After an appointment at the doctor to confirm it, we began to tell family and a few close friends and coworkers. It was around 8 weeks at that point. Seemed like a safe time to slowly let the cat out of the bag. Other than the whole IVF part, our first pregnancy was pretty flawless (until the end when my blood pressure was off the charts), so I wasn’t too worried about complications. This time around I was having nausea, but I never got sick which was a huge improvement over our first time. Before, I was constantly sick. This time it all just seemed so easy. I was so much less sick this time, there were mornings I briefly forgot I was pregnant. But then my new voracious appetite reminded me. I had to eat every hour and a half or two hours before it felt like my stomach was imploding. I’d get so hungry I’d start to have anxiety and panic. My snack drawer at work looked like the snack aisle in the grocery store. I was a few days shy of 11 weeks when I had to go in and do routine blood-work (since I was a geriatric pregnancy this also included a test to see what the sex was). It was last Friday and actually it was my birthday. Nothing was amiss. After work we went to a baseball game with my sister and her partner. I was still slightly nauseous and absolutely famished feeling all the time. After a bucket of nachos and ice cream I felt pretty good. When we got home that night, I noticed a slightly jarring amount of blood when I used the restroom. It somewhat freaked me out, but at the same time I spotted on and off during my first pregnancy and nothing had changed on that part for this new pregnancy. The next day, Saturday, the bleeding was less so, and I wasn’t too concerned. I still felt nauseous and had the appetite of a gremlin after midnight. Sunday morning came and I was still spotting more than usual but I just still was not that concerned. I did start googling miscarriage symptoms and people expressed cramping and severe pain and blood clots. I was having none of those things. Plus, my pregnancy app told me the baby was a size of a lime so if I passed it due to a miscarriage, I’d surely know it. Sunday early evening came, and I’ll admit here and now that my hackles were somewhat raised then that perhaps my body was rejecting this pregnancy. I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t nauseous feeling. It was almost 630pm and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I just wasn’t hungry whatsoever. That was not normal. The next day, I woke up around 330 in the morning to some cramping. I used the restroom and was alarmed at the amount of blood I saw. I burst into tears. This was it. I knew it. I tossed and turned and could not fall back asleep. I got up and got ready for work earlier than usual. I showered, dressed, put on a little makeup. All while cramping harder and harder. I called the after hours line for the obgyn group at the hospital and got a person right away. I explained I thought I was having a miscarriage and why I thought that and said I didn’t know what to do. The woman who answered was kind and told me to call and leave a message with the doctor on call and they would promptly call me back with advice. I hung up the phone and went into the living room to turn on the local news for background noise. As I was standing there listening to the day’s weather forecast I felt what I knew was the baby passing through me. I carefully walked back to the restroom and it horrifyingly was the the baby in some kind of sack. I was 11 weeks and 1 day along. I cried out “You stupid little thing, why did you come out!” And started shaking. I stripped down and was completely in shock at the amount of blood. Once I was able to slightly stabilize, I left a message for the on call doctor who did immediately call me back. She advised if the bleeding wasn’t under control to go to the emergency room but if I was comfortable with the amount to wait and come in during office hours. It was bad, but not unmanageable. With me wearing a depends. If I didn’t have any leftover from my first pregnancy (for after delivery purposes) I don’t know how I would have managed to leave the house. My husband came home from work right away and we left for the doctor. The office hours were technically 8am but I suspected the doors opened at 730 and I was right. I explained to the front desk worker what had happened and she began to figure out when they could see me. She was able to get me slated for a 930 ultrasound to confirm there was no heartbeat with an appointment immediately following with the doctor. What we feared was true: I had had a miscarriage. It seemed so unbelievable. I felt so good this round and we were so close to the 2nd trimester. I just could not believe it. The doctor was concerned with the amount of blood I’d lost and examined me and said he wanted me to have a procedure called a D and C (to clear out the remaining blood and tissue) right away. I didn’t even know what this procedure was. I had to be hooked up to an IV and put under on an operating table for it. The whole experience was so surreal and I’m honestly going to to be processing it for a very long time. The OR nurse was absolutely exceptional and compassionate. Before we left, she wrote down her personal cell phone number for me to call or text if anything came up. I was floored. I keep constantly forgetting there isn’t going to be a ‘new’ baby. They have the results of the sex, I so badly want to call and find out but then like, obviously what would the point be. I was a wreck emotionally earlier in the week and just when I feel stronger (I usually never cry) I just completely breakdown. I do blame this morning’s breakdown on an episode of ‘Queer Eye’ though. I hate being cynical, but I just knew this ‘easy’ pregnancy was too good to be true.

[numinex919]

What Doesn’t Kill Me - Chapter 2

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171611/chapters/35279288

Rey strides out of the boardroom, gritting her teeth, head down. She stares at the notepad and digital tablet in her hand so that no one will notice how bloody furious her boss makes her.

She’s starting to consider that being horrid might be his default setting.

His obvious lust for power combined with his sycophantic fawning over the company chairman, Mister Snoke, is revolting. And she hasn’t even met the latter yet.

But it’s the twist of distaste in his expression whenever he issues her with what is tantamount to a set of orders that really puts her on a short fuse.

As though the very sight of her disgusts him. And he makes zero attempts at being remotely civil.

“Such a bas—Oh!”

Her exclamation is muffled by the fact her face is pressed into someone’s chest.

She rebounds, but before collapsing in a graceless heap on the floor, is caught by a pair of strong hands.

Blinking rapidly she focuses her gaze on a fine wool suit jacket, following the dark, elegant lines up and up and up.

Straight into an intense stare that is startlingly familiar.

“What are you doing here?” It’s a stupid question to ask a complete stranger, but in the five days since that night at the bar he’s been on her mind so much it feels natural.

His head jerks back a little, eyes narrowing, a bemused expression on his lean face. When he responds his voice is like clotted cream over rich, dark chocolate. “I work here.”

Oh. Fuck.

“Right.” She drops her gaze to the safety of his chest and perceives quite a number of things simultaneously . . .

One of her hands is pressed to the broad expanse, the other clutching her digital tablet and notepad like a shield.

He is still gripping her upper arms, which means their lower bodies are very much in contact.

She’s just recovering from the tingling shock of this realization when his scent hits her. Spicy-musk with a hint of citrus.

For a dizzying moment she wonders how he manages to smell so edible.

Oh. Fuck.

His grip tightens and she can feel his heartbeat under her fingertips. It’s pounding as though he’s been running, while his breath is coming in short pants.

Startled, she flicks a quick glance at his face. His soft, full lips are slightly parted.

As though ready for her mouth, her tongue.

And his eyes . . . the pupils are blown, making his honey-brown stare appear almost black. Before he drops his gaze to her lips.

He sways towards her.

One part of her brain is screaming at her . . . move away. This is inappropriate, you don’t even know his name!

The other part is absolutely on board with more contact, mainlining the sensations his touch is producing on the rest of her body like a crack addict. Lightning streaks are running along her veins from where his palms warm her bare arms. Butterflies are holding a rave in her stomach and the results of that party are starting to make themselves known further south . . .

Is—is she actually getting turned on standing in the middle of her workplace? Simply from the most innocuous touch?

The heat from his body is a palpable thing against the rest of her. And the briefest flash of hot, bare skin under her hand shoots through her mind. She wants to kiss each beauty mark on his face. There are lots dotting his pale skin. She wonders if there are more scattered over his body.

The distant noise of a door closing is like a gunshot in the charged silence.

And she realizes they’ve been standing there staring at each other for more than a handful of moments.

If anyone walked down the narrow corridor right now . . .

She drops her gaze and jerks back. He lets her go and she’s scrambling to find something to fill the suddenly awkward silence.

“So, you work here. Ah, which area?”

“I’m head of the security division.”

“We have a security division?” She’s briefly startled, but a split second later acknowledges she isn’t particularly surprised by the existence of such a thing. Hosnian Solutions is big on ensuring confidentiality, even secrecy. And she’s not shocked at his place at the head of said division. He has a palpably dangerous aura—hadn’t she thought so in the bar?

Big dick energy. This guy has it in spades.

“Yes, we do.”

Wut?

It’s a struggle to recall her last statement . . .

Oh.

She thrusts out her hand awkwardly, trying to inject some kind of professionalism into the encounter. “Well, um, I’m Rey, Mister Hux’s new secretary.”

His gaze flicks from her hand to her eyes and back before he engulfs it in his own.

“Yes, I know.”

* * *

Kylo watches the shock flit through her gaze, relishing it for a dark moment before he says, “Head of security, remember?”

Understanding dawns on her expressive face, with, is that the faint hint of disappointment?

In that brief moment of contact in the bar, has he made so much of an impression on her that she thinks he might have sought her out?

Uncertainty bites at what he thought was a long-healed wound.

He’s still holding her hand.

Her firm grip would feel incredible wrapped around his cock.

He releases the contact and steps back, away from the intoxicating scent of her, frangipani and jasmine, the touch of her skin, silky smooth.

He’s so hard he’s not certain his suit jacket is doing any sort of job of concealing his body’s response.

Suddenly he’s aware that he’s standing in a public hallway staring at this girl with a hardon which would be visible from the moon.

Anyone could walk past, including Hux, and suddenly he’s certain he wants Rey to keep this job.

Hux is enough of an asshole that if he senses Kylo is even remotely interested in Rey he’d fire her just for the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

Simply because Snoke considered him and not Armitage Hux as his apprentice. Hux was, as Snoke once put it, ‘a rabid cur.’ A useful one nonetheless, whose weakness was to be exploited with scant regard to the fallout for those around him.

“You had better get back to work.”

His words take a moment to sink in, her eyes widening at the implication she’s been lingering irresponsibly.

The flash of anger that sets the gold in the hazel depths of her gaze alight makes his erection twitch.

He needs to get away from her before he does something really stupid—like find out what she tastes like.

“Nice to meet you, Rey.” He moves past her, she doesn’t say anything. When he glances back her head is down, revealing the tender nape of her neck. After a moment she strides away in the opposite direction.

He realizes he didn’t tell her his name.

Using his access card he enters the surveillance room which had been his ultimate destination.

It’s empty, cctv monitors humming quietly. He locks the door and stumbles over to the bank of monitors.

Sure enough there’s Rey, settling behind her desk.

Just for a moment her skirt hikes a little high, revealing her slim thighs before she demurely adjusts it.

That’s enough.

He wrenches at the button and fly of his tailored slacks. A moment later his hot, rigid cock is in his hand, the head already weeping for the touch of Rey’s hand.

A gasp punches out of his chest.

He barely manages a couple of rough, uncoordinated strokes before his spine is tightening, his balls fucking aching.  

His desperate gaze lands on the wastebasket beside the desk and as he stares at the monitor he imagines her fingers sliding over his dick, stroking the head, her gold-flecked gaze darkening, pink lips parted, taking complete control over him.

Totally unafraid of him as she works his big body.

The monitor flicks to a different camera. This one captures her front on and for a moment, as though she senses his regard, her gaze darts up, seeming to catch his through the screen.

With a breathless, snarled grunt he slips over the edge, spending into the wastebasket.

He comes so hard he thinks he might lose consciousness.

In the cooling aftermath, as he’s trying to figure what to do about the scent of sex in the room, the wastebasket . . .

His fucking obsession.

He experiences a flash of burning anger.

This girl has been the cause of five nights of him waking up on the verge of coming, grinding a weeping, rock-hard erection against his black cotton sheets.

Jerking off has become not just a daily habit, it’s a necessity if he wants to get any sort of decent sleep. To be able to focus on his work.

He’s so close to his objective, he cannot lose sight of it for a mere slip of a girl. Not much longer and he’ll be able to achieve his goal and his uncle, Luke-fucking-Skywalker will no longer be an issue.

[puppetmaker40]

All that Glitters Part the Fourth

Thank you @cosmicstarlux for your infinite patience in this. I have been without lap top from Christmas to New Years but am home and have Internet and said lap top. We are in the home stretch on this story so here is a peice to wet your appetite. 

Belle settling into a routine as school went on. In some ways she felt a little out of touch with her fellow classmates as she didn’t have that many classes with them since she had already finished the course work while she was ill. In other ways it was like nothing had changed. There was the house cup contest, which honestly meant more to the first years than the fifth years. All though it was a matter of pride for all the houses.

The Quidditch matches were as much fun as she remembered. She cheered for Hufflepuff as they managed to go to the finals only to lose to Sytherin. She could swear that there was magical cheating involved. 

But she felt most comfortable in two places at the school. One was the library and the other, strangely enough, was in Rumple’s classroom. Somewhere in their interaction she had shortened his name and he had never objected. But it was only something that was said in private. In front of the students it was always Rumplestilskin.

They were a couple of weeks away from the winter break when she got an owl from her father explaining that business had come up and he would be in the Americas during her break. He gave her the choice of staying at Hogwarts or come home to spend the holidays in the house pretty much alone except the servants.

She was furious. They had talked about this. But business seemed to be more important than her to him.

Rumple had noticed something was wrong but said nothing until after class. As she was helping him to tidy up after the lesson on pixies what works and what doesn’t, he broached the subject.

“Belle, what’s wrong?” 

“What makes you think something is wrong,” she said trying not to look him in the eye.

Rumple giggled, “Oh dearie, I know this for a certainty. I have been making deals long enough to see when things are not right.”

“It’s my father,” she started and then stopped.

He took her gently by the elbow and led her into his study that was attached to the classroom. Through the study was his bedroom but Belle wasn’t sure he ever slept.

He sat her down in a lovely overstuffed chair in front of the fireplace. He vanished in a cloud of purple smoke only to re-appear with a formal tea on a tray that he set down on a table between them. He poured her a cup of tea and added just a touch of honey to it before handing it to her. He did the same for him and sat down across from her.

She sipped the tea and took comfort in the ritual of tea. 

There was silence for a bit while tea was consumed along with some excellent finger sandwiches and scones with clotted cream.

Belle put her empty cup down, “My father has informed me that he will not be home this holiday break because he has work to do in the Americas.”

“I am so sorry,” said Rumple and she did believe that he was upset for her.

Belle took a deep breath and said, “I know why he is fleeing from our house. My mother loved Christmas so much. The whole house was decorated and there were certain smells that only happened that time of year. Two years ago she had passed on. A year ago I was in hospital and we didn’t know if I was going to live or die at that point. It was very bad. But now I am healing and I thought maybe we could get something back of the holiday that I loved as much as her. But apparently it is too painful for him so he throws himself into work to avoid or…forget.”

She could feel the tears rolling down her face as she spoke.

Rumple took the cup out of her hand and knelt down next to her. He hugged her and she hugged back as if he was a life preserver. He held her and stroked her hair as she sobbed and let out so many feelings that had been bottled up inside.  

They heard the door open at the same time and looked up to see Gaston in the doorway with very shocked look on his face. Rumple got up to his feet and away from Belle. As quickly as he was in the doorway, he was gone and the door was closed again.

Belle looked at Rumple who seemed to be deciding what to do.

She stood up and took his hand in hers, “Let me handle it.”

He looked at her puzzled but nodded.

Belle left the study and went to find Gaston.

[aromatickindling-blog]

All Meals are Mandatory here in Nobel Michel

Everyone had gathered in the dining room for breakfast, as always.

But today brought an unappetizing tension for all attending.

Today marked the start of a competition none of the princes present wished to compete in.

And frankly, their guest had little tolerance for it either.

Keith snorted impatiently.

“Doesn’t matter how much the rest of you try to persuade her, Green’s still a Libertean down to her bones. Even if she does give a thought to lending her skill to anyone else, I’ll make sure she remembers just who she’s dealing with!”

Glenn and Joshua shot defiant glares at the proud prince, while Edward and Roberto shared mutual looks of unease. Wilfred just observed everyone else with a blank face.

It was then Altaria’s heir piped up in disagreement.

“That’s too brutal, even for you Keithster! She seemed so frustrated when Lord Michel convinced her to stay here with us. We should at least make her and Din feel more comfortable before asking for her help.”

“Yes, both her and Din are guests of Nobel Michel, much like we are Prince Keith. It would do well to show some decorum around them, especially with what little we do know about what they had to suffer through. Demanding our visiting flower to bloom immediately will only cause her to wilt,” Edward chimed in.

Howls of laughter broke through the air.

“Hah, Green, a flower?! Maybe, if she’s the stubborn weed you hire the gardener to pluck!”

“...Is that your own way of complimenting your citizens, Keith?”

“Keep out of this, Prince Wilfred!”

With his patience thinning from hearing such small talk, Prince Joshua turned to his butler Jan – standing by behind him as the other butlers did with their respective masters.

“Go ask Zain where Green and Prince Saladin are and why they haven’t come to the dining hall yet. It’s against societal standards to keep a prince waiting.”

“Of course, Prince Joshua.”

Jan bowed neatly before slipping out the door.

Glenn smiled appreciatively. The sooner the tactician-for-hire appeared, the sooner he could start his work in ensuring his country’s safety in the brewing war. And it meant a bit of extra time to plan ahead, if he managed to convince her quickly.

“-I swear, she’s the opposite of her brother, always wearing a dour expression on her face instead of Sage’s dopey smile. If she’s going to work for me, she should at least entertain me instead of dampening the mood every time she comes in-”

“With that attitude, are you sure she won’t find me more charming to work for, Keithster?”

“You take that back, Roberto!”

“That’s so mean~, to do this on my birthday!”

“...Well, happy birthday to you, but the spoils still go to me in the end.”

“Huuuu, Albertooo~”

Said butler drilled a proverbial hole in the prince’s head.

“That is not how you address your servant in the company of others, Roberto. Try again.”

“...”

“Nonverbal begging does not count.”

“Fine. When is Greenie coming? Zain said she’d join us for breakfast last night.”

“Greenie?! You already gave her a nickname?!” Keith interjected.

Roberto smiled jovially in response before turning back to his butler.

“About that...”

It was then the servants quietly came in to serve the food, tailored specially for each diner; this caused both butler and prince to snap their attention to the entrance.

“About time,” Joshua muttered to himself.

Zain came in soon after with Lord Michel in tow to seat him at the head of the table, the former looking rather flustered. Jan tailed behind them to slip back into position, using the time to inform his master about what he learned.

“Hohohoho, thank you for joining me for breakfast, young ones. However, with regards to our newest guest...”

Michel looked over to Zain, who nodded slightly before addressing the table.

“I’m afraid Lady Green was not found in her room at the time; his royal highness, prince Saladin, informed me earlier she might have gone out riding her griffon. It’s apparent I haven’t been specific enough with her about what is expected of her as a guest of Nobel Michel. On behalf of my master, please forgive us for this oversight.”

Zain bowed deeply.

Keith’s figure started to quiver from irritation at the news, while his butler Luke tried in vain to calm him back down.

One of the maids tugged lightly at Zain’s wrist cuffs to catch his attention; as she whispered in his ear, his eyes became more grave.

“Excuse me, I’ll go look for our guests-”

Wilfred, quiet for the majority of the conversation, coughed, then pointed to the curtains. Two silhouettes, one of a child and another of a youth, could be made out sitting in a tree just outside. Both seemed to be enjoying some kind of hot drink.

Zain sped elegantly to the curtains and pulled them back, right as the sound of palms hitting the table hit everyone’s ears.

“Oh dear.”

“So she thought to ditch us at breakfast?!”

“Prince Keith, please-!”

“No Luke. I’ll teach her as the crown prince of Liberty what happens when you defy your own royal!” Keith bellowed, storming to the glass doors.

Both tree dwellers stared back into the room, caught in the middle of enjoying hot drinks.

“...Looks like we’ve been found out, Din.”

“Awww...I wanted to stay here a little longer”

Zain walked up crispy and started gesturing at them to get down and sit for breakfast.

However, the two had already disposed of their manners from two years of rough travels as mercenaries. By now, it was more natural for them to eat only when needed. Formalities be damned.

“By the orders of your crown prince, I command you to join us for breakfast!”

    Din sidled up closer to Green, nuzzling close as though to hide. Green downed the rest of her coffee before stashing it away in a small pack at her hip; she calmly stroked Din’s silky down locks, a guilty smile forming on her lips. Liberty’s royal windpipes always made for a spectacle back home: annual conferences at the capitol would have it reverberate down the halls. Both she and her brother Sage had that memory burned cleanly into their minds.

But the young Libertean kept defiant.

“I can easily converse with all of you from this vantage point, your highness. I just don’t have much of an appetite today, so excuse me if I prefer the company of the birds when enjoying my morning roast.”

“Gwendoyln Drake Astora, would you prefer I accuse you of treason?!”

“At this rate your making a better case for the others, Prince Keith.”

“Rrrgh! You ungrateful little-”

“Your highness!”

“Don’t let her get the better of you.” Luke softly chided, slanting a glare her way.

Keith only mimicked Luke’s action, and soon Green mirrored their expressions. The resulting triad of ire choked the air around them.

And Zain would have none of it.

“Lady Green, may I ask that both you and Prince Saladin join Lord Michel and your fellow guests in the dining room? I’m afraid your actions are only serving to spoil everyone’s appetites.”

“...Maybe, if you can seat the lion.”

It was then Roberto walked up.

“Greenie, is the view up there nice?”

“Wha-? Yes? You can make out the entire pattern in the courtyard from here, along with a general scope of the inside of the castle.”

“Then~!”

    He jumped onto the nearest branch, scratching his cheek as he climbed through the tree to where Din and his retainer sat. Green reeled in shock from the move. It had been enough to break her contest with Keith and Luke, and it left her staring, mouth open and eyes wide at his carefree demeanor. Nearly every aristocrat she met avoided dirtying their outfits, let alone revoke manners to climb trees. Just...how is he justifying this? She flinched at the groaning of the branches as Roberto made her way over to her. Clearly, the branch couldn’t handle three bodies lying on it all at once. Din’s and her morning alone had ended. It was time to resign. Pursing her lips, she patted Din on the shoulder, flashed a sorry smile, and addressed her new neighbor on the tree.

“Prince Roberto, please stop.”

Suddenly, Roberto’s bouncing strides deflated into a halt.

“Huh, why? I only w-”

“We’ll be coming down now. My apologies for all the trouble.” she replied stiffly.

Roberto looked slightly crestfallen at her words.

“But Greenie-”

“The branch can’t handle all three of us together, your highness...But I can show you the view from a better vantage point later on, provided there’s no strict schedule to adhere to.”

Despite staring him head on, fearful hesitation wavered in her eyes. Something she hoped the crown prince wouldn’t notice, or at worst ignore.

“Oh, well in that case you can sit next to me!”

“?!”

Din perked up soon after. “Can I sit next to you too, Prince Roberto?”

“Yeah Din! I’ll have much more fun with you and Green to chat with.”

“Nagi help me...” Green muttered under her breath.

All three made their way back into the dining hall one by one, where Lord Michel rose to greet her.

“Ah, finally. I’m happy to see you join us Miss Green, Prince Saladin. Please, be my guest and help yourselves to some food. I personally recommend the beignets or the berries and clotted cream. It should be light enough for your reduced appetite and go well with either tea or coffee.”

Din made a break for the beignets.

At Michel’s gentle tone, Green let out a relieved breath. Yet soon he moved behind her seat, making her flinch with his hand on her shoulder.

“But remember that throughout your stay, you will be joining us for all meals from here on out. Am I clear on this?” he whispered into her ear.

He received a resigned nod in response.

“Thank you. I hope you get along well with the princes. They may be overwhelming at first, but they all have good intentions at heart. No matter your decision, everyone prefers to avoid long-term conflict. Please keep that in mind. Now, if you mind me. We have a birthday to celebrate, despite the circumstances.”

That morning, Prince Roberto had his fill of well wishes and cake.

[sassyshortstack]

I had a random flashback again today. It came out of nowhere. They got better - or rather fewer - this fall, and now it feels like they’re seeping back. They don’t last as long as they used to, but they’re just as real and even more jarring. When they come, my breath stops and I don’t realize it until my brain lands back in the present and I remember to breathe.

So, I’m going to sift through the memories in the hopes that writing about them will help keep the disturbing flashbacks at bay more. TW: cancer, death, grief, suicidal thoughts.

My sister Rebecca died on August 25, 2016. I watched it happen. But in many ways, I still don’t believe it.

On New Year’s Eve 2015, she was diagnosed with Stage IV cervical carcinoma and metastatic lung nodules. Which basically means she had a giant tumor in her uterus, and it had spread enough to cause damage to her lungs before we knew. She underwent chemotherapy and radiation for the following eight months. In the summer of 2016, she had to use an oxygen tank way too fucking often. Then one night in August, a week before she died, she started having sudden chest pain. My mom and I drove her to the ER. When they took her back to one of those terrible half-open ER rooms, with mattresses that are way worse than even the ones in my college dorms, I was with her. The nurse asked what pain level she was feeling on a scale of 1 to 10, and she managed to get out “Eight.” Somebody told my mother that Rebecca had a pulmonary embolism (a blood clot in the lung). Later that night, I asked my mom what that meant, and she told me just that - “it’s a blood clot in the lung” - but I didn’t really understand what it meant until days later.

My dad came to the hospital from the meeting he’d been at when we first brought my sister to the ER. He called my brother, who was several states away, to book a flight to come home right now, and in the back of the mind I realized that wasn’t a good thing. But I wasn’t scared. I knew my sister was stronger than this disease. I knew she’d make it. I just knew.

I wasn’t really scared until three nights later, when Dad, Andrew, and I were asleep (sort of) at home and Mom was at the hospital overnight. She called my dad at three in the morning to say Rebecca was having trouble breathing and being admitted to the ICU, and we needed to come right away. We all threw on clothes, jumped into the car, and sped off. I could feel my heart thumping so hard it was trying to escape my chest, as if my system beating harder and faster would help keep her alive too. We half ran into the ICU, and I was so afraid. I’ve never been afraid like that. I was standing on a sheer cliff of terror, ringing in my ears, my head spinning, so scared that she would be gone and I wouldn’t be there for her. My sister, my best friend in the whole world, my soulmate and guardian and inspiration and dearest love.

When we finally made it through security and all the fluorescent, sterile-smelling hallways and arrived in her room, I was relieved to see my sister alive - and then I saw our pastor standing there. Anger like I had never known pumped through me. Why the hell is she here? Rebecca isn’t dead. She shouldn’t be here, we don’t need her. I tried to push the fury aside. I played the part when she asked us to pray together, when she blessed my sister, when she read from the Bible. But inside, I was full of rage. Stop treating my sister like she’s dead. She’s right here, and she’s going to be fine. Fuck off.

And in some ways, I was right. Rebecca made it through the night. The scariest night of my life. I hated seeing her with that stupid bag under her oxygen mask, to help her breathe better. Seeing her with the oxygen tube so often earlier in the summer had been bad enough, but the mask was somehow so much worse. But she made it through the night. And the sun rose through the big glass windows by her bed, where I was perched in a chair. It was a stunningly beautiful sunrise - the sky morphed from a deep slate blue to all hues of pink and orange. I was the one sitting in the room with her when the sun came up - we were holding hands and not talking much. She nodded outside the window. “Look.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah.”

At some point, one of the doctors came in to talk about their next steps, and although I don’t remember what exactly he said, he was basically telling us she’d be able to do outpatient radiation again in a couple days. My family kept saying that was good news, but I was confused and had this inexplicable bad, twisted feeling in my gut. I don’t know how I knew, but I just knew that he was wrong. If she was going to be better so soon, why did she still have to use that stupid oxygen mask? Why were we still in the ICU? I still knew deep down she’d make it, but I also knew that it wasn’t going to go the way he said it was. I felt totally spaced out. Looking back, that day - her first day in the ICU - was when the deep shock really started to settle in. We’d had tons of visitors every day she’d been in the hospital, and there were even more that day, including cousins, old teachers, church friends, work friends, and some people I hadn’t seen in years. In retrospect, that really should have been a warning to me. That night, our family friends made my mom leave the hospital instead of spending the night with her, which my brother, dad, and I were incredibly grateful for. They also made my brother and me leave to do something fun that evening.

I still just felt so wrong. I knew my sister would survive this, but I also knew the radiologist was wrong. I was moving and talking and hearing other people talk to me, but I was totally not in my own skin. We’d had tickets to see the Royals game that night, and I didn’t really want to go, but our family friends kept saying we needed to get out and do something, so Andrew, my Aunt Deb, Amanda (my cousin closest to my age, and who I’m closest with in my extended family), and I all went to the game. I was in the backseat behind Andrew, who was driving, and he and Aunt Deb were mainly the ones talking on the long drive to the stadium. I kept hearing their words float by me without totally connecting them. But then my aunt started talking in a way that suggested she was worried, that she was on the verge of tears, that she was scared for my sister. She said she wanted her to sign a fabric square for a quilt she was making my parents just in case. Dimly, I felt annoyed and angry again. Why did people keep doubting my sister? She already battled and overcame so much. She already made it through depression, and she was going to kick cancer in the ass. Why did no one seem to have faith in her but me?

And then one phrase in particular stuck out to me. “If indeed Rebecca does pass away.”

My breath seized up. It felt like iron weights were crashing around my ears and weighing down my chest, creating a racket and suppressing my airstream all at once. The world was disappearing. All that existed was the terrible noise and the horrible weight and the sickeningly blurred trees and buildings outside my window.

No one had told me.

No one had told me my sister was in danger of dying.

And that’s how I found out. Through an aside, in a car, on the way to a fucking baseball game.

And I still haven’t been able to forgive my parents for that.

The next day, everything got worse - but I somehow didn’t feel worse. I just felt empty. Dazed. I remember my aunt and uncle making my brother and me gluten free funfetti pancakes (my aunt had amusingly but very unintentionally bought the funfetti rather than regular box at the store without realizing) with big, ripe blueberries. I remember my sister’s regular doctor coming to talk to us. I couldn’t process what she was saying. It was like I could see her mouth moving, hear that there were words spilling out, but I couldn’t understand her. Like she was speaking another language I used to know, but I just couldn’t remember a lot of the words anymore. She sounded almost angry. I was confused. I think she was pissed at the radiologist who had been there the day before and told us a plan that would never come to fruition. My mother looked scared, but I was just lost. I had known, I had felt yesterday, that the other doctor was wrong, and it seemed like that was what Rebecca’s primary doctor was saying now. But I still knew she’d be fine.

Then the word “hospice” made it through the fog in my brain.

I didn’t understand at first, but gradually I realized. She was going to be transferred to a hospice house. Later that day, at home, I asked my mom what that meant. She said with tears in her eyes that they take people there who they think have less than a week to live. I think I cried a little with her, but deep down, I was still hopeful. I still knew she’d make it. She always had, after all. The hospice house was for old people who have lived their lives, not twenty-five-year-olds with so much left. She still had a chance.

That night, my other aunt - the one who got the funfetti pancakes - was taking her daughter Amanda and my brother and me to their house for the night. On the way there, it was suggested we get ice cream, so we stopped at a Freddy’s Frozen Custard. We all ordered ice cream, and laughed together about how this was the most productive feelings-eating session there had ever been. It’s amazing what good food and good family can do for the soul. I didn’t feel so alone all of a sudden. About two bites into our ice cream, Amanda started making a big production of wanting fries too to really complete the whole eat-our-feelings thing. She was being her funniest, Amanda-est best, standing up and running to the counter to get a large order of fries. The half hour or so we spent there, laughing and talking over the saddest fries and ice cream in the world, was oddly perfect. It was the most I’d felt like me all week.

The next morning, they moved her to the hospice house. It was a Wednesday. And since it was August in Kansas City, it was hot and humid and disgusting. I’ve never liked summer, but the summer of 2016 has given me eternal fuel for hatred for the season.

The hospice house was cozy and filled with love and prayers from many volunteers and former visitors. And I hated it. I hated the word “hospice,” which I hadn’t really heard or read since my grandpa died years ago. I hated the butterfly logo, the ornate carpet, the dimly lit rooms. More than anything in the world, I hated the smell. I can’t describe it, but it still fills my nostrils whenever I have panic attacks or flashbacks. It was totally different from the terrible sterility of the hospital, and different from any smell of any other house or home I’ve ever set foot in. It was all wrong, and strange.

Rebecca had so many visitors that day. We gave her a quilt square and a Sharpie to write her name, or to draw something. She was such a good artist. But she kept falling asleep. Why is she falling asleep? She kept starting to write something, and managed to get out a block letter A and little else. A? Why A? She kept falling asleep trying to write even one word. And I still don’t know what it was going to be.

Not long after that, she started to sleep. And not long after that, she was slipping out of consciousness. Visitor after visitor came to sit by her, talk to her, but she was fast asleep. At some point, I took a break to walk around the hospice house garden. My aunt gently suggested calling a friend from St. Olaf. So I asked Ellen if we could talk, and she was happy to help. I paced around the garden, restlessly going by flower after flower, for once not scared of the bees. It was sunny and bright, and thanks to a breeze, not excessively warm in the shade of the trees. There were spinning wind sculptures amidst all the plants. I paused in front of a clump of yellow roses. Ellen had given me a yellow rose when my grandfather died. I stared at them as I told her what was happening. She just kept saying how sorry she was, and how it sucked, and how she wanted to help me any way she could. I told her, truthfully, that she was helping. (Side note: And she still does, every day. We are roommates. On the one year anniversary of my sister’s death, she kept me company half the night when I couldn’t sleep.)

I went back inside. I talked with people. Lots of them. They all looked at me like it was hard to face me. I couldn’t fully understand why. If anyone could make it through this, it was my sister. And no one seemed to know it but me. One of the hospice house nurses came to tell us they thought it would be soon now. But I just didn’t understand.

Evening came, and so did a storm. Rain started pattering against the windows at about the same time darkness fell. Late in the evening, at around nine o’clock, it turned into a real thunderstorm. Lightning was crashing outside, and inside, dozens of our friends and family - at least thirty people - were crowded inside the room. I don’t remember who first suggested it, but somehow, it came up that we should sing. My family - and many of our friends - are very musical, especially my parents, brother, sister, and me, and many of us were raised in the Lutheran church. So somehow, someone suggested we sing a hymn, and my brother started us off. A few of us looked up the lyrics on our phones, and within a few bars, the singing was full and strong. And then someone suggested another song. And another. And another. Sometimes, there would be a pause in between, and other times someone would just start singing a new hymn right away after the last one. I preferred no silence, because my sister was having more and more trouble breathing, and it was agonizing listening to her. So I was singing and singing, full and rich, not even having to hold back tears, overflowing with the music, helping lead the song. After a while, in the back of my mind, I wished we could do a Christmas song, but I was worried people would think it odd if I brought it up. But not a minute after this wish popped into my head, one of my little cousins asked my brother if we could sing “Silent Night.” It made me really and truly happy - and not just because I have the mind of an eight-year-old. We kept singing and singing (including a couple more Christmas carols, but mostly other hymns), and strange as it seems now, it felt totally natural. 

All in all, we sang for two hours. And we only really stopped because a nurse came by shortly after eleven to tell us that there was going to be a tornado warning in the county, and now might be a good time for visitors who needed to return home to do so before the storm got worse. So, most people left. Only my aunt and uncle, and three of our really close friends who might as well be related to us by now, stayed. They all went with the nurses to a chapel inside the hospice house, which had more cover from a potential tornado than my sister’s room. The nurses told my parents, Andrew, and me that we were welcome to stay with Rebecca unless there was a tornado coming our way, at which point they would come get us.

So we stayed. We decided each of us would be by her side in shifts while the others slept still in the room. My parents were with her first; I planted myself on the couch and Andrew took the rollaway cot. I couldn’t sleep anyway - not that he really could either. When my parents were ready to trade, he told me quietly to try and sleep. I nodded. I rummaged through my bag to see if I had brought my iPod, and was hugely relieved to see I had. With a blanket wrapped around me in a chair near Andrew, I put the headphones in my ears and sifted through songs to make a playlist, trying to bring some semblance of comfort or sleep. I was looking through music for quite a while, partially because I was half listening to Andrew reading my sister books - Chicka Chicka Boom Boom and The Very Hungry Caterpillar. She was a preschool teacher, and those were two of her favorite books in the whole wide world. I loved and hated seeing him read to her like that. Then he told me he was going to try and find our family friends. I said okay, and moved into the chair beside her. My parents were asleep. It was just her and me.

I moved the chair closer, so that I could hold her hand. We held hands all the time, so I knew the shape and warmth of her hands well. So it frightened me out of my wits when I took her hand and this time, it was icy cold. I felt a shock of panic course its way through me, but shook it off. I had to be with her. She needed me. I swallowed and took a deep breath. Then I took out my phone and started to read. An Awesome Book of Love.

The words fell from my mouth, staggering a little at first, but gradually with a rhythm.

...But we aren’t all of those things - you’re you and I’m me. And we’re as together as together can be. And you know I’m aglow with a smile on my face When I wonder what magic you’ll make of this place - Of this town, of this world. You’ll transform your surroundings! That spirit inside you is truly astounding...

I started to crumble a little. The words came slower and slower. But I had to keep going. I squeezed her hand tighter, willing warmth to flow it, willing her breathing to ease. Her breaths were coming too slowly, and it terrified me to my core. I’d never heard anyone breathe like that. I wanted her to feel better. I continued on.

...I love you! I love you! In so many ways - Over thousands of years, over billions of days...

Tears were falling rapidly. This book meant so much to me, and the words were so perfect for how I felt about her, Rebecca, my sister, my sunshine. Dimly, I realized a nurse had quietly walked in. I kept reading. It was one o’clock in the morning, and I was tired and scared and confused and crying a little, but I kept reading. I glanced at the words, but mostly I looked at her face, her long eyelashes - which had managed to grown back even longer than they had been before all that chemo - resting on her cheek.

...I love you! When I’m holding your hand, When you’re making a plan, When you’re thinking a thought, When you’re dancing a dance.

And then...I stopped. Because the world had stopped.

She was gone.

I had watched her last breath. I had held her hand for the last time. I was the last one to see her alive. I saw her die.

I fell apart.

I started crying like I’d never cried before. My parents woke up, realizing what had happened. My brother came back, and I remember us all hugging. I couldn’t stop crying. I was splitting at the seams. I was going to die. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to be in a world that my sister wasn’t a tangible, living part of. Andrew took me out to the living room, guided me to a surprisingly comfortable couch. I curled up on one end of it, just like I do at home, while he went to get the rest of our family. I cried like I’d never cried before.

After a few moments, I pulled out my phone and texted my St. Olaf friends. It was the middle of the night, so I was surprised to get a reply from my close friend Brenna. She had been sending me links to songs throughout the week as I updated her on everything going on. That night, she sent me “No One is Alone” from Into the Woods. It was beautiful and sad and perfect.

A little while later - I have only some dim memories of my family friends coming back from the chapel - Andrew and I ended up on the couch together, with all the adults in the room. We talked. And it occurred to me that this was the last day the three of us would ever be together. Now it would just be Andrew and me. We hugged for a long, long time, and I cried and got snot all over his shirt. Eventually, he got up gently to make us both green tea and get out a box of gluten free crackers. I hadn’t even realized I was hungry or thirsty until he did that. It was still raining outside, but it wasn’t storming so hard anymore.

At around half past three, we all left. Andrew and I went back to my aunt and uncle’s once more, and although I tried to be quiet, I woke up my cousin when I climbed into her bed. She looked at her phone, saw the texts from her parents, and wrapped me in a warm, comforting hug. So many people held me while I cried that night, but she was the one who made me laugh. The storm had picked back up by the time we got to their house, and when a huge streak of lightning, followed quickly by a loud crack of thunder, split the air, we both laughed a little.

“Rebecca must be throwing a party up there,” she said hoarsely.

I laughed. “Yeah.”

That week, and especially the night Rebecca died, has changed me forever, but I’ve grown enough to know now that this shitty experience hasn’t ruined me. It’s not the ending of my story, even though I still sometimes wish it was - and it’s sure as hell not the end of her story either. She lives on in me, and in so many other people - our family and friends, her music, even her preschool students. And even though I still find myself, like that night, sobbing in agony, or feeling empty and lonely and totally wrung out, or wishing the world would end or at least go away...I also find myself, like that night, surrounded by love more times than I can count.

She was always so full of love. Overbrimming. And I have been, too.

I still am.

- - -

I’d still love you no matter what sense it would make. I’d love you whenever, whatever it takes. I’d love you no matter, cause you’re you and I’m me - Together forever, in love as can be. - An Awesome Book of Love, Dallas Clayton

[steezygawezy]

I can never unsee you

Seeing my sister in a coma and in that state of pain from injuries is something that I can never unsee, or get out of my head. The first time I saw her she was just laying in the icu, covered with a sheet from chest down, a neck brace on, a tube down her throat, ivs in her arms, ivs in her neck, and a mostly shaved head with a tube sticking out of it.

I have never felt such a sadness, a heaviness behind my throat, a shock that left me unable to believe it what was really happening, and it’s not like a death where someone’s dies, you go through morning, funeral, and so one. This emptiness has been going on for almost a whole month. We’ll about 23 days. Everyday I’m out of it, unable to consitrate. If I am not there that day I wake up and call the nurses desk, call my mom, if she answers, and just wait for progression.

It is a waiting game. Sarah recently got moved from Chapel Hill icu, tchapel Hill step down unit, to now WakeMed neuron brain injury section.

Sarah has a severe traumatic brain injury. A severe Diffuse Axonal injury to be exact to the kind of brain injury. A broken femur(which she had surgery and metal rod put in), broken left shoulder, a dissection of the left vertebral artery followed by a blood clot in her left arm. She has pneumonia, since getting that they surgically placed a feeding tube in her stomach, and she’s had her tracheotomy tube surgically placed in her trachea. At risk for stroke from blood clot, and risk of seziers from brain injury. We were given a copy of the Ranchos scale, which is one of the tools they use to assess brain injury patients. She is a high 2. Possibly 3, as I was told on Monday.

Sarah has been having ““storming” episodes every few days. A fever off an on.

Sarah recently opened her right eye on Sunday a few times, and on Monday it was open for a few hours. I kept talking to her, holding her hand, telling her what the doctors told me to tell her, who I am, where she is, that she was in an accident, and what day it is. I kept asking her to smile, she wouldn’t, she made no eye contact with me but just staring off, I asked her to give Jen a thumbs up, and she finally did. That is the first time she has done anything actually from a command ever since her accident. Since Tuesday to now she has been just resting, no one in my family has seen her open her eye again. Her whole left side of her body hasn’t been very responsive. She has moved those toes, her hand only to pain stimulation while they do stress tests, and her left side of her face isn’t doing anything.

I cannot believe this has happened, or s happening. Sarah is aware of pain, since she cannot do much, she can’t still make facial expressions and watching them do things like clean our her trachea tube, she always looks in pain like she is going to cry. I saw them brush her teeth on Monday and I wanted to cry. Her facial expression wasn’t a painful one, it was more of a violated and scared with a mix of crying but no tears. 

I wish that I could be in her place. I have a family and a life, but Sarah has so much good night for her, recently engaged this summer, a masters in physiology with a great state job as a vocational evaluator. She drives to different counties daily to see all her different patients. She had been trying to move back here to the beach, trying to get the same job here. 

I’m so lost, I call her for everything, because I’m bored, because we are trying to plan her wedding, because she saw a funny commercial, or I want to tell her about the crazy shit my son did today, or how he just said a new word, or is running now, and how this was the first Halloween that I didn’t help her find a costume and figure out what we were going to do, or that I need help figuring out what I should cook for dinner. I think of memories of my whole life, she is in almost all them somewhere. Our whole childhood we grew up together, into our adulthood in our 20s living together as best friends, shopping, going out, sitting in our pjs doing nothing, giving each other advice even when it was unwanted. When she moved away to get her masters she still came to see me at least once a month, if not more. Every time I found out I was pregnant I told her, every time we lost a baby, I told her. The first time she came here for a few days after we found out we lost our baby at my 14 week appointment, she was the person who came to comfort me, lay around and mope with me, watching grease and eating ice cream.  She was always there for me in a way nobody else in my life has been there for me. Recently before her accident when we found out I was pregnant for the forth time, she was so excited, so excited about being an aunt again, and when we told our family we had another miscarriage she came and saw me about a week later. I really need to stay strong, and positive for her.

I am as positive as I can be. I want to grow old with her, live in the same town again like we always planned, take care of our parents together when they get old, I no she is strong, she is fighting as hard as she can.

I just want her to open and eyes and this all be like it never happened. 

I want her to remember me and all that she means to me. She is going to need alot of rehab as in learning how to talk, write, feed herself, brush her hair/teeth, possibly not remember stuff including who she is. I am yelling at god in my head, why did this happen, I no things happen for a reason, but please please help her. I pray every night, all day actually, that she will regain consciousness and not remain in this vegetative/minimally conscious state(as to where they said she is now) please just open your eyes and let me help u learn to brush your hair again, I don’t care what’s it takes, please don’t take my sister, my best friend, who I have shared my whole life with away from us. 

This wasnt just a coma, she has diffuse axonal brain injury. she is projected to be severely disabled if regaining consciousness. Only time will tell. Please Sarah, please fight this, I will help you as much as I can if you just wake up. Please just wake up.

[susielindau]

Have you ever taken a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation class? I took one for a babysitting badge when I was in Girl Scouts. I remember the plastic dummy and going through the routine while hoping to God I’d never have to use it. Flash forward a few decades.

On March 9th, I flew back to Wisconsin for my mom’s eighty-seventh birthday. My brother, Joe McCartan, ordered a cake and I picked up flowers. Mom was so surprised! Over dinner that night, she told us she planned to live a long time. For her one-hundredth birthday, she wants a stylist to dye a blue streak in her hair. I love her attitude.

My brother is the king of joking around. I couldn’t get a picture of him when he wasn’t mugging for the camera.  When I left Colorado it was seventy degrees. Check out the temperature on my brother’s iPad.

Two days later, Joe drove to the butcher to buy steaks to grill and went to a chiropractic appointment. In February, he slid on black ice and crashed his car into a telephone pole. It exacerbated an already sore back.

Later, the three of us watched the UW Badgers cream Northwestern by thirty points. Being a yawnfest, Joe texted on his phone. He’s a highly sought after, free-lance, on-location sound technician for major networks, television, movies and corporations. Very excited, he read the thread out loud. It regarded a commercial he had been hired to record. The company wanted to shoot tight shots of musicians playing the oboe, violin and cello. He had texted the high school music teacher, who had all kinds of ideas.

“The kids will love being in a commercial.” Joe was stoked.

“Sounds like you contacted the right person,” I said and yawned. “I think I’ll take a quick nap.” I walked upstairs to my room.

When I returned downstairs, Mom played Words with Friends in the kitchen while the steaks thawed in a pan. I had planned to walk the dog, but Joe had already left with Charlie. I opened my laptop and wrote my last post about daylight savings time. After dinner I thought it would be fun to play a game and take some group selfies.

Always pretty high energy, Joe burst through the door led by their Collie.

“I just missed you,” I said, looking up from my computer.

“Yep,” was all he said. Then he ran up the back stairs to his apartment behind my mom’s Victorian. I heard his footsteps overhead and then settled in to proof my stupid post.

He moved in a year before my dad passed away and has been taking care of Mom. He’s been a godsend, taking her to appointments, shopping and the little things, like setting the table for meals. He brings her tea and puts her eyedrops in before bed. My mom is super sharp, but has glaucoma and hasn’t been able to drive for years.

When Joe didn’t come downstairs, Mom said, “What’s taking him so long? We need to get the steaks on the grill.”

I shrugged and more time passed.

“Go check on Joe,” she said. “I don’t want to eat at 8:00.”

“Give him a few more minutes,” I said, knowing he liked his privacy.

A few more minutes passed and I ran upstairs.

I opened his door and peeked inside. “Hey, Joe!” I shouted. You have to walk through a kitchen to get to the large open, living and dining space.

“Joe! Time to make dinner,” I shouted through the doorway.

No response.

I stepped inside and saw him chilling in front of the computer. His arms relaxed on the armrests, his head was cocked backward and his mouth hung open.

“No wonder you didn’t hear me. You’re sound asleep.”

Still no response.

Something was wrong. “Joe! JOE!” I raced up to him and patted his pale cheeks.

No response.

“Oh, my God!” I felt for a pulse in his neck, but couldn’t find one. His lips were white. He wasn’t breathing. I screamed to my mom. She called 911, hysterical when the operator didn’t understand what was going on. I used my fingertips on his wrist and heard quick taps racing across the surface. Were they mine? 

Just like I’d been taught all those years ago, I started mouth-to-mouth and alternated with the CPR technique I’d learned on the Internet. One, two, three, four, staying alive, staying alive… I’m sure only minutes passed, but it seemed like an hour before the first responders arrived. They tried everything, but couldn’t get a pulse. Hope slipped away.

The paramedics came and hooked up a CPR machine and breathing tube. I went downstairs to check on my mom. Her friends, Kathy and Roger Roth, consoled her on the couch. Time passed. I ran back upstairs. “Did you get a pulse?”

“No, nothing,” one of the paramedics replied. I felt so guilty. I didn’t do it right. I could have saved him, but I failed! I couldn’t stop sobbing.

After answering tons of questions about his health, I went back downstairs. By that time, the funeral director, Bill Hurtley, and the priest from across the street, Fr. Dooley, had arrived. I got to know and love both of them when they took care of my dad’s funeral. Bill brought my mom back from her catatonic state with his dry humor.

Anxiety filled my empty stomach with broken glass. I turned to Bill for support. “I wrote a stupid blog post and didn’t come upstairs in time. I screwed up. I could’ve saved him.” Tears streamed down my cheeks.

He looked me in the eyes and said, “You found him relaxed in his chair, right?”

I nodded.

“There was nothing you could do. He threw a clot,” Bill said.

“What?”

“A blood clot. Believe me, I see a lot of dead people,” he said. “It’s what I do. Heart attacks are pretty uncomfortable. The victim has time to react, so we usually find them on the floor. Throwing a blood clot is painless. It happens to runners all the time. They go for a run and as soon as they sit in a chair, they die.”

“Why am I here if I couldn’t save him?” I asked.

“For your mother,” he said. “If she would have discovered him, it would’ve been a shock she would never have recovered from.” He took a moment and added, “Don’t blame yourself. Even if someone throws a clot in the hospital, no one can save them.”

An autopsy would have cost five to six thousand dollars. Bill insisted it would be a waste of money. Pulmonary embolism. It’s what people get from sitting too long on planes. Who knows where Joe got his clot. Surgery two years ago? The accident? Bumping into something and not telling anyone about it? We’ll never know. He wasn’t on blood thinners. I’m taking a baby aspirin now.

Alive and vibrant one minute and then gone the next. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

My little brother, who towered more than a foot over me, who did lotus position yoga with me when he was little for giggles, who I took to all kinds of concerts and events when I was in high school and college since I feared our almost ten year age difference would cause us to drift apart. My little brother who I loved dearly is dead at forty-nine years old. I was only a few steps away. How can that be?

He was a saxophone player in a band and was a local celebrity. He worked with people all across the United States. His Facebook and funeral home page are filled with heartfelt shock and condolences. We planned his funeral for March 25th at St. Paul’s Church across the street from their home in Evansville.

Being the writer in the family, I had to write his obituary. It was tough enough when I wrote my dad’s and felt tremendous pressure to do Joe’s life justice. His friend and co-worker, videographer Eric Janisch helped fill in the work details. You can read Joe’s obit here.

Two things I discovered on my own might help others.

I couldn’t get the image of him sitting in the chair out of my head. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. I must not have blinked the whole time I ran toward him. I stayed up all night. It was the same the next day as neighbors and relatives arrived. My husband, Danny, flew out that afternoon. As I drove toward the Dane County Airport I noticed some perfectly formed trees silhouetted in the snow. I picked one and stared at it as I drove toward it. I closed my eyes and saw the tree. It totally worked. That horrific last image of Joe disappeared, at least from my retinas.

Exhausted, I didn’t dare take a nap. Experiencing the shock all over again upon waking is the worst. In the past it has taken weeks for my brain to wrap itself around death. I wondered if saying it out loud to myself would speed up the process. I gave it a try. “Joe is dead. He died and you couldn’t save him. He’s not coming back.” I repeated it again before I picked up Danny and then twice before falling asleep. It worked.

Danny and I have lost half our families in two years; his bother and mom, my dad, then his mom’s boyfriend of fifteen years and now, my brother. It’s devastating to lose the people we love.

What about that quick tapping in Joe’s wrist? I hadn’t told anyone. Even though others shared the cause of death idea, I still wondered if it was instant as the funeral director and doctor claimed.

Days later, I remembered. “Make sure to lay your fingers across the wrist or you’ll feel your own pulse,” the instructor had told the Girl Scouts. I held my husband, Danny’s wrist in a different way. A strong slow pulse throbbed beneath his bones. No quick tapping on the surface. It had been mine I felt, not Joe’s.

There was nothing I could do. He had already passed.

How am I? Better. I’m grateful for the time we had together. Looking back, the timing of my visit seems serendipitous. I’ll embrace my grief and will remember him always.

Spring is emerging after a long winter dormancy. I see everything more intensely now and understand life’s fragility. Everyone will die. Life is impermanent. The trick is to live each day with appreciation and wonder.

In memory of my brother, I will start a nightly journal. I’ll list three positive things that happened during the day. He would’ve liked that.

What about my mom?

Many of her friends have offered to help. At this point, she won’t consider moving to Colorado with my brother and dad inurned in Madison. We’ll do whatever it takes to celebrate her one-hundredth birthday. I want to see her rock that blue streak.

I Celebrated a Birthday, But Failed to Save a Life. Have you ever taken a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation class? I took one for a babysitting badge when I was in Girl Scouts.